Everett waited half a moment before he replied. He read in the face of the Herr Doktor craftiness and greed, and he knew he must use tact if he would spare Gerson Brandt the pang of parting with his precious book.
“The Bible is not what I want,” he said. “Some smaller book will do as well for me.”
Adolph Schneider was too shrewd to be easily put off.
“We have found that there is no writing for sale in Zanah. Of all our books there is none that we can part with except the Bible. Zanah is loath to part with that, but the colony hath need of money.”
Again Everett said that he did not wish to make the purchase.
Adolph Schneider was not to be balked. “I will send to the school-master for the book,” he said, “and thou shalt examine it at thy leisure. I will have it taken to the inn.”
Everett walked away towards one of the large vineyards, which was situated on a sunny slope of a hill just beyond the village. Here men and women were silently picking the early grapes. Elders and village mothers kept strict watch of the younger members of the colony. No one appeared to take any notice of the stranger, and he went over to a place where a pile of stones offered him a seat. It was a glorious summer day with a premature promise of the autumn in its golden haziness. Along the edges of the fences stalks of golden-rod here and there stood out among the tall grasses. The fields stretched away in patches of brown and green and yellow. He felt sure that there was no more tranquil spot in all the earth. As the quiet colonists worked among the vines, Everett asked himself if they were really reconciled to the barrenness of their lives. The world, with its delights, its pains, its passions, was barred out, but he wondered whether the men and women found it possible to close their hearts to all human emotion. With heads bowed low the women kept their faithful hands busy, each doing the work allotted to her. Apparently the chagrins of coquetry, the pangs of aspiration, the restlessness of unfulfilled ambition did not touch them; yet, now and then, he caught the girls casting sly glances at the youths who labored near them.
When the afternoon had advanced until the long shadows began to fall upon the fields, Mother Werther appeared, carrying two steaming tin pails fastened to a bar that she balanced deftly. Her appearance was the signal for every one to stop work. She put the pails down in an open space, and, smiling kindly on men and maids alike, said:
“Every man and woman here will be glad of a cup of coffee, I am sure, and this to-day is stronger than any I have boiled for many a week. It is from the Herr Doktor’s own bag.”
There was a merry twinkle in her eye, and Everett was sure he saw her wink at one of the village “mothers” who leaned against a near post that supported a well-stripped vine.