“The devil!” cries the major.
The little maid Faber has just come in with the ale in great earthen mugs. Now, every one knows that the major did not look upon women with a tender glance, but this little maiden he had to gaze upon with delight, as she came in so neat in lace and cap. Her light hair lay combed so smooth above her forehead, the home-woven dress was so pretty and so dazzlingly clean, her little hands were so busy and eager, and her little face so rosy and round, that he could not help thinking that if he had seen such a little woman twenty-five years ago, he must have come forward and offered himself.
She is so pretty and rosy and nimble, but her eyes are quite red with weeping. It is that which suggests such tender thoughts.
While the men eat and drink, she goes in and out of the room. Once she comes to her brother, courtesies, and says,—
“How do you wish me to place the cows in the stable?”
“Put twelve on the left and eleven on the right, then they can’t gore one another.”
“Have you so many cows, Faber?” bursts out the major.
The fact was that the organist had only two cows, but he called one eleven and the other twelve, that it might sound fine, when he spoke of them.
And then the major hears that Faber’s barn is being altered, so that the cows are out all day and at night are put into the woodshed.
The little maiden comes again to her brother, courtesies to him, and says that the carpenter had asked how high the barn should be made.