"You are?" replied Anton, looking at him with some anxiety. "No; I think we had better make all the rooms one color. What do you think of brown?"
"Hum—not bad," said Karl.
"I know it is a favorite color of Fräulein Lenore's. It must not be too dark, though, but a bright mixture of yellow, gray, red, and green, with, perhaps, a little black in it."
"Aha!" said Karl, disconcerted; "a peculiar sort of brown, I suppose."
"Of course," continued Anton, eagerly drawing his chair nearer; "we will mix it ourselves."
"That's my way," said Karl; "but I tell you beforehand, these chalk colors are the very deuce! You paint a blue, the next day you have white; you have the most beautiful orange in your brush, and when it has dried on the wall it is a dirty yellow."
"Between ourselves," replied Anton, "we shall not succeed very perfectly, but I think we shall manage to make things look tolerably comfortable."
The following day the hammering and painting began. The joiner and his men set up a workshop on the lower floor; above, the great brush of the painter kept unwearyingly passing and repassing over the walls, and white figures, with great aprons, carried buckets now up, now down. As for Karl, he seemed to have a dozen hands. Whenever he could get away from the farm, he painted woodwork and walls with all sorts of brushes. He ran round with a foot-measure, drove in nails and hooks for curtains, and the very next moment there he was again in the field or the stable, but every where whistling his soldier's songs and urging on the laborers. As the arrangements of the house progressed, his love of beautifying became more and more developed. He bought a quantity of oil-paint, which he found excellent, and displayed a decided talent for the art. He now ventured to give to several objects, which seemed to him qualified to receive it, the appearance of finely-polished wood, and, with the aid of a soft brush and a bunch of feathers, succeeded in producing wonderful effects. He even carried his brush and his beautifying into the farm-yard, and teased Anton into consenting to a general whitewashing of the mud walls. "They will dry in this weather just as well as in summer," said he. "My only regret is, that I can't wash the straw thatch." To make up for that, however, he was determined to give the two new potato-carts and the best plow a coating of beautiful blue oil-paint. "One must have something pleasant for the eye to rest on here," said he, by way of apology. "And it will pay for itself, for these Poles get on better with gayly-colored things."
The castle was temporarily arranged, and the arrival of the family expected on a cold December day. The sky had carried out Karl's wishes, most effectually covering the earth with a pure white mantle, and hiding many an eyesore from the expected party. The snow lay thick on pasture and sands, the summits of the pines wore white crowns, and the leafless shrubs glittered with frost-crystals. The ugly straw thatches were whitewashed to some purpose, the broken parapets of the bridge filled up. Each projection of the castle walls, the top of the tower, the whole roof, was capped with dazzling white, while the red-brown walls stood out in bold relief below. Within, it was a busy and exciting day. Wagons of furniture and stores were unpacked, and all arranged as well as the haste allowed. The farmer's wife and the housekeeper wove great garlands of fir-branches, and decorated the hall and the room doors. The sun set, and the silver landscape turned to gold, till the rising moon suffused it with a mysterious blue light. Several lamps were lit in the house, as many candles as possible placed in the apartments, the stoves all burned cheerily, and the fir-twigs filled the air with their fragrance. The gay curtains were drawn, and the open suite of rooms looked so habitable, that Anton asked himself in amazement how the labors of a few weeks could have wrought such a change as this. Karl had placed pitch-pans on both sides of the castle, and they shed a cheerful glow around.
Meanwhile all the dependents assembled in the hall—the forester in a new green coat, the memorial of his battles on his breast, a deer-hound at his side, stood in military attitude next to the German farmer and the shepherd. The housekeeper and the farmer's wife had put their best ribbons on their caps, and tripped to and fro in restless expectation. Karl, too, appeared in his hussar's frock.