Frau Hofer raised a mocking forefinger and smiled:
“We’ll have to put an anchor on thy work-bench and hold thee, lad, or one of these fine days thou wilt really sail away and leave us.”
“Not while the father lives,” and Fritz’s dark eyes took on a serious look. “But come!” he suddenly exclaimed; “I’m keeping you both out here, when there are many duties waiting for you in the home.”
Then, with one of his frank smiles, the boy lifted his cap gallantly and turned away.
III.
efore Fritz left the courtyard, he stopped beside the bench where he and Katrina had been sitting. The hope was strong in him that he might hear the voice again; for there was one question he wished to ask. And while he stood there, hoping to realize his wish, he watched the shadows as they crept over the mountains, then into the valley far below. Only faintly now could he discern the white pathway that wound over the nearest hill, then down into the Marienthal.
Suddenly, Fritz gave a start of pleasure; the voice was speaking in those same rich accents.
“So you are looking down there at the Singers’ Way. That is the name of the white path you see, glistening against the dark green background in the valley yonder.”