[Friedel silently holds out his cap.
Marta. What's this! What's this! What's this! Was ever heard tell of such insolence? As if Old Marta wasn't poor enough herself, without giving to every beggar who chooses to ask! The little good-for-nothing sees how I stagger under my own load and yet asks me to help him! [Moves on.]
Friedel [softly]. I would help you carry them.
Marta [pausing]. Help me! Help me! and lose half the sticks I have worked so hard to gather on the way! [Goes on.] Help me, he says. When I want help I'll not ask the beggars that come out of the streets of the town just a purpose to lie in wait for a poor old crone like me. [Exit (R.) mumbling.] That I'll not! That I'll not.
Friedel [looking after her]. Why does she think I would drop the sticks? I would be so careful. I wonder why. I almost think she was afraid of me. Of me!
[Enter Cross Jacob (L.).
Friedel [timidly]. Please—please, sir, could you tell me the way back to the town? And oh, couldn't you let me come to your fire a little while to warm myself?
Cross Jacob. Go away with you! It's as much as ever my wife will do to let me warm myself at my fire. She's got nine boys of her own to fill up my house and drive me away. Get away with you! [Shakes his fist threateningly. Friedel recoils.] Go home to your own fire! [Exit (R.).]
Friedel. Oh, if I only had one!
[Enter Rich Johann (L.). Pauses to light his pipe.