Nicolas Herkimer sighed, and struck his forehead with his hand.
"Now," said he, "what one cannot hinder one must let happen, and, in any case, poor Catherine cannot help it. Let us go in a few moments, aunt, I would like to form the acquaintance of the maiden who so turns the heads of our young men."
Catherine, who was busily engaged at the hearth in her preparations for dinner, had paid no attention to what was going on outside. She had just stepped to the door to look for Aunt Ursul, and suddenly saw a strange and very stately man opposite to her, in whom she at once recognized Nicolas Herkimer. A deep blush flew over her cheeks; then, however, she approached without being confused, and put her hand in Herkimer's offered right hand.
"Poor child!" said he, holding her thin fingers for a moment, "the life that awaits you here is very rough. May the strength you need not be wanting to you."
"Ah, what, sponsor," said Aunt Ursul; "do not make the maiden shy. You think because she has hands like a princess--but it depends not on the hands, but on the heart, sponsor--and that I assure you is in the right place. So much I can tell you."
"Should you not say it, those eyes would do so," said Herkimer smiling--"at least to me, who am old enough to look into them without being punished for it. Now, my dear girl, you need not blush. You see my hair is getting gray, so a joke may be allowed. Live happy, Aunt Ursul. Live happy, kind maiden; and may heaven grant that we may joyfully meet again."
He said the last words also to the young men, who had finished their work and had come up. Then he pressed the hand of each one in turn, holding that of his son Richard perhaps a moment longer, swung himself on the gray, and rode off on a sharp trot without looking back.
"That is an Israelite indeed, in whom there is no guile," said Aunt Ursul. "And now, children, let us go to the table. I have an appetite like a wild wolf."
Notwithstanding this information, at the dinner to which they now sat down Aunt Ursul ate almost nothing, and also, contrary to her custom, was very still. Toward the last she took no part whatever in the conversation, and first woke from her absent-mindedness when Anthony Bierman, who had the watch, announced the minister.
"Who?" called Aunt Ursul, as she quickly rose from her chair; "the minister? He comes at the right time for me. God has sent him. Keep your seats; do you hear?"