When at home, Karl would watch sorrowfully over these two children, the old man and the beautiful child; but when he was away at his work, they were a constant care upon his mind.
In passing his neighbor's door, Karl often noticed Elizabeth, the thrifty daughter of the house. He saw that her restless hands were always busy; not one speck of dust escaped her sharp, black, eye.
Though her voice was loud and shrill (Karl knew too well he could never find another sweet-voiced Chimlein) he hoped her heart was kind, and he thought she might take better care of the father and the little Gretchen than he could. So he asked her to be his child's mother, his father's daughter, and the mistress of his cottage.
Elizabeth felt keenly that he was no ardent lover; but he was her first, and might be her last; so with no more intense feeling than a desire to secure a home for herself and a provider for her wants, she consented to be his wife, and become mistress of the cottage.
Elizabeth was full of energy, and after she went to the cottage there was a great change in its appearance. Every nook and corner was made thoroughly clean, the rents in the curtains were neatly mended, the bits of carpet were all washed and spread down upon the sanded floor, and there was always a clean shirt for Karl when he came from his work, and a button, was never known to be missing.
Altogether there was not a more notable housewife in all the burg than Elizabeth. But her shrill voice grated sharply upon the sensitive ear, and, worse than all, it seems as though the old grandfather and the little Gretchen were always in her way.
From morning till night the old grandfather had a vile pipe in his mouth, and the smoke made every thing black and dirty. She then would look at her clean curtains and whitewashed walls, and frown. He was continually dropping the ashes about, and sometimes would even spit upon the floor, which was too much for mortal woman to bear; and then there was no end to the trouble the little Gretchen made her in a thousand ways.
To think that she, who always disliked children, should be obliged to take care of another woman's child!
At first she would bite her lips and choke down the angry words that strove for utterance, but in her heart she called them "The Two Good-for-Nothing's," and would cast such angry looks upon them that in their shrinking sensitiveness they would steal away to the banks of the blue Rhine and try to forget Elizabeth and their trouble. But alas! poor unfortunates! too often they would return with torn or soiled clothes, and then the mistress would be more angry than ever.