"Give them to me, Rudolph," said Mining. "I will take them in, and bring you out something to eat."
"Oh, no! no! Never mind.
"But you must be hungry.
"Well, then, just a little something, Mining. A slice or two of bread and butter!"
Mining went, and Rudolph seated himself in the arbor.
He had a sort of easy indifference, as if he would let things come to him, but yet, when they touched him nearly, he would not fail to grapple with them. His figure was slender, and yet robust, and with the roguery in his brown eyes was mingled a spark of obstinacy, with which the little scar on his brown cheek harmonized so well, that one could safely infer he had not spent all his time in the study of dogmatic theology. "Yes," said he, as he sat there, "the fox must go to his own hole. I have beaten about the bush long enough; to be sure there has been time to spare, there was no hurry about settling matters until now; but, to-day, two things must be decided. To-day the old man is coming; well for me that mother does not come too, else I might find myself wanting in courage, at last. I am as fit for a parson as a donkey to play on the guitar, or Gottlieb for a colonel of cuirassiers. If Bräsig were only here, to-day, he would stand by me. But Mining! If I could get that settled first."
Just then, Mining came along, with a plate of bread and butter.
Rudolph sprang up: "Mining, what a good little thing you are!" and he threw his arm around her.
Mining pulled herself away; "Ah, let me be! What a naughty boy you are! Mother is dreadfully angry with you."
"You mean on account of the sermon? Well, yes! It was a stupid trick."