"Good? Yes, can I really believe you, Magde?"
"Yes, I so consider you, and therefore I am good to you."
Carl commenced laughing, and assumed a crane-like position, as he balanced himself upon one leg. This was his usual custom when pleased.
"Well, well, then you love poor Carl a little. That's good!"
"Carl is my good boy," replied Magde, who during the conversation had been engaged in spreading out a number of skeins of knitting yarn that had been placed out to bleach upon the grass plot.
"Listen," said Carl, approaching nigher to Magde, "would Magde shed a tear upon my grave if God should call me from earth?"
There reposed in these words a tone of mingled fear and humility, and Magde, much moved by the peculiar expression of Carl's countenance, replied:
"Certainly, Carl, I would shed many, many tears, for I believe there are none who love you as I do."
"I am grateful, Magde," said Carl, violently scraping the ground with the sole of his hob-nailed shoe, an action which could scarcely be called a bow—"your words shall be remembered. I am Magde's servant, and shall be so as long as I live."
With these words, he turned on his heel, and trotted towards his place of destination.