Her eyes turned upon him as if she did not quite understand that; then she buried her strikingly small head in the wide folds of her father's coat.
"Why are you hiding, Wienke?" he whispered to her; "are you afraid?" And a trembling little voice rose out of the folds of the coat: "Wienke would rather not look; but you can do everything, can't you, father?"
Distant thunder was rolling against the wind. "Hoho!" cried Hauke, "there it comes!" And he turned his horse round to ride back. "Now we want to go home to mother!"
The child drew a deep breath; but not until they had reached the hill and the house did she raise her little head from her father's breast. When Elke had taken off the little shawl and cap in the room, the child remained standing before her mother like a dumb little ninepin.
"Well, Wienke," she said, and shook her gently, "do you like the big water?"
But the child opened her eyes wide. "It talks," she said. "Wienke is afraid!"
"It doesn't talk; it only murmurs and roars!"
The child looked into the void: "Has it got legs?" she asked again; "can it come over the dike?"
"No, Wienke; your father looks out for that, he is the dikemaster."
"Yes," said the child and clapped her little hands together with an idiotic smile. "Father can do everything--everything!" Then suddenly, turning away from her mother, she cried: "Let Wienke go to Trin Jans, she has red apples!"