“Thou forgettest that Brother Kellar hath been nigh unto death,” said Mother Werther.
“That doctor from the world is a handsome man,” remarked Gretchen Schneider, who had come in and taken her seat near her mother.
“Tut, tut; I am ashamed of thee,” said Mother Schneider, in a tone of reproof. “Thou forgettest that the maidens of Zanah must not look upon men, and must not care whether they be handsome or hideous.”
“Dost thou find him more comely than Karl Weisel, our respected elder?” inquired Mother Werther; and, despite the scowl of the wife of the Herr Doktor, smothered laughs were heard from various parts of the room. Gretchen Schneider’s pale face flushed. Before she could reply her mother retorted:
“Thy words are unseemly, Sister Werther. I bid thee keep silence.”
“I have the right of free speech,” the innkeeper’s wife answered; “and there is none in Zanah who doth not know there would have been a wedding long ago if the head of the thirteen elders had not loved his place of authority better than the daughter of the Herr Doktor.”
In a moment Mother Schneider flew into a rage, quite inconsistent with the religious principles of Zanah.
“Hold thou thy clattering tongue,” she commanded; and for the space of two minutes not a word was spoken in the room. The whirring of the busy wheels alone disturbed the quiet.
The entrance of Frieda Bergen fortunately relieved the situation of its tensity. The girl came into the room bearing on her head a bundle of flax, which she deposited before Mother Werther.
“This I brought from the station, whither I went with Mother Schmidt,” she said.