Then they laughed again still louder.
"My name?--" stammered Cain. For a moment he did not know what they meant; but suddenly the blood rushed to his face. The story of his shame had made the long journey from Waltheim here! He could not say another word, nor even look at the three men. With drooping head, he slipped away.
Soon afterward he was standing in the workshop, where Fausch was busy making a supply of horse shoes ready for the summer. The smith had not heard him come in, but, turning around by chance, discovered him, standing in a corner, with his arms hanging limply and his head on his breast. "What is the matter then?" he asked.
Then Cain looked up. His features twitched convulsively. "They know it here now--they know it all," said he slowly.
Fausch dropped his hammer. "What do they know?" he asked.
"About--my name."
A flash of anger rushed over the smith. "I would like to see who dares to call you anything but Franz here!"
"I want to go away, Father," said Cain, "out into the world--down to Italy, or somewhere--I want to go away."
"Nonsense!" Fausch burst out. "Get to work! Blow the bellows for me!"
The boy obeyed without remonstrance. "This evening we can talk about it," was all he said. Then he did as his father had told him. He still held to his decision to go away. But it seemed very hard to him. He stifled a rising sob. The smith worked as if a hundred horses were waiting at the door for the shoe he was making. Suddenly he straightened up, laid down his tools and pointed out some more work for Cain to do. He himself went out without saying where he was going. Once outside, he went to the tavern, and drank a glass in the servants' room, as he now and then did. As he sat there, he noticed exactly what he had expected: every one looked at him differently since yesterday. Simmen, whom he ran across, asked why the boy did not come over. Then he added with a half sarcastic, half angry look: "I have found out all about you and--and Franz. You weren't exactly gentle with him in those days."