"A song-book and a rod," said Anton, good-naturedly. "I do believe you are a good woman. Come here, flaxen-hair." He took the scared, stolid child on his knee, and made him ride there—walk—trot—gallop—till the little fellow at last got courage to take his fingers out of his mouth.
"He is used to that," said his mother, much pleased. "It is just what his father does when he is a good boy."
"You have had a hard time of it here," suggested Anton.
"Ah! sir," cried she, "when we heard that a German family had bought the estate, and that we had to keep things together for them, and thought they would soon come and perhaps drive over here, we were as glad as children. My husband was all day just like one who has been in the public house, and I wept for joy. We thought that at last there would be some order, and we should know what we were working for. My husband spoke seriously to the shepherd—he is from our part of the country—and they both resolved that they would not allow the steward to sell any more away. And so my husband told him. But weeks passed, and no one came. We sent every day to the village to inquire, and my husband went to Rosmin and saw the lawyer. But it seemed they were not coming after all, and that the estate would be sold again. Then, a fortnight ago, the steward came over with a strange butcher, and wanted my husband to give him the wethers; but he refused. At that they threatened him, and wanted to force their way into the sheep-pens; but the shepherd and my husband were too much for them; so off they went cursing, and declaring they would have the sheep yet. Since then a man has watched every night; there hangs a loaded gun which we have borrowed; and when the shepherd's dog barks, I get up, and am dreadfully frightened about my husband and child. There are dangerous men about here, sir, and that you will find."
"I hope things will improve," said Anton; "you lead a solitary life here."
"It is solitary indeed," said the woman, "for we hardly ever go to the village, and only sometimes on Sunday to the German village, where we go to church. But there is always something to be done about the house; and," continued she, somewhat embarrassed, "I will just tell you all, and if you don't approve, we can give it up. I have dug a little space behind the barn, we have hedged it in, and made a garden of it, where I grow what I want for cooking; and then," with increased embarrassment, "there are the poultry and a dozen ducks; and if you won't be angry, the geese on the stubble-fields, and," wiping her eyes with her apron, "there is the cow and the calf."
"Our calf!" cried the child, in ecstasy, slapping Anton's knees with his fat hands.
"If you do not approve of my having kept the cow for myself," continued the weeping woman, "we will give it up. My husband and the shepherd have had no wages since the last wool-shearing, and we have been obliged to buy necessaries; but my husband has kept an account of every thing, and he will show it you, that you may see that we are not dishonest people."
"I hope it will so appear," replied Anton, soothingly; "and now let us have a look at your garden; you shall keep it, if possible."
"There is not much in it," said the woman, leading them to the inclosed space where the beds were all prepared for their winter's rest. She stooped down, and gathered the few flowers remaining, some asters, and her especial pride, some autumn violets. Tying them together, she gave the nosegay to Anton, "because," said she with a pleasant smile, "you are a German."