“You are very hard to satisfy, Jörgel, and a lazy lout besides,” said Brigitte. “Think of others who are no better off than you are, and yet have wives and children to look after, while you are single, and have a careful, economical aunt to run your house! You can go and come when you please, and always find something to eat and sometimes an abundance, for your affairs do not always turn out badly. When the highways fail you, the forests supply plenty of game. At home you can stretch out on your straw bed, or train your falcon, or fix things when they need it. You have always something to wear, so—”
“Have I? Just take a look at my coat,” interrupted Jörgel. “There is a hole in the elbow of the right sleeve.”
“Is that so?” said Brigitte. “Hand me my needle and thread from the window shelf, and I will soon fix that.”
Jörgel betook himself to a small grindstone in a corner of the room to sharpen his hunting-knife. “I tell you what, Aunt, sing me a song to drive away the blues and make the stone turn more easily.”
“Certainly, my Jörgel,” assented Brigitte. She hung the mended coat upon a hook in the wall, and after giving the cat the scanty bits left from the meal, she sang, while clearing up the dishes, a ballad about Count Rudolf of Hapsburg—how he besieged the city of Glanzenburg and floated huge wine-casks down the Rhine, out of which armed men suddenly sprang; and how the Count took advantage of the confusion of the people to storm the unprotected walls.
After she had finished singing, the old woman remarked: “The cat has scratched herself several times behind the ear and my nose itches all the time. These things betoken a visitor.”
“I hope it is not an unwelcome one,” said Jörgel, “that Waltihofener whom I still owe ten shillings lost at dice, or that laborer whose hay I carried off from his rick, or—”
“Have no fears on that account, Jörgel,” replied his aunt. “You can get rid of the Waltihofener with fine words, and you can pitch the laborer downstairs. Now, my left hand begins to itch, and that means good luck, or money, which amounts to the same thing.”
Jörgel’s wheel flew so fast that it emitted sparks, and the falcon upon its perch fluttered its feathers in affright. Suddenly a young man, who lived in the lower part of the tumble-down building, called out at the door: “Noble sir, my father bids me tell you that a gentleman from Mörsperg has just arrived, and is even now putting his horse in the stall.”
“Did I not prophesy rightly?” triumphantly exclaimed Brigitte. “All the signs pointed to a visit, and the itching of my left hand meant good luck.”