Night had come. Many lights were burning in the house, and Rose, in festive attire, was hurrying back and forth between the room and the kitchen, though she did not know how to give any help. Everything was ready.
And now the young farmer's wife said to Barefoot:
"Go upstairs and put on your Sunday dress."
"Why?"
"You must wait on the table today, and you'll get a better present."
"I would rather stay in the kitchen."
"No, do as I tell you—and make haste."
Amrei went up to her room and sat down for a moment on her box in order to get her breath. She was dead tired. If she could only go to sleep now and never wake up again! But duty called. Hardly had she taken the first piece of her Sunday dress in her hand, when a feeling of joy came over her; and the evening sun, sending a red beam into the little attic, shone upon a pair of glowing cheeks.
"Put on your Sunday dress!" She had but one Sunday dress, and that was the one she had worn that day at the wedding in Endringen. Every flutter, every rustle of the dress reminded her of the happiness she had experienced, and of the waltz she had danced on that eventful day. But as darkness followed the setting of the sun, so did sorrow follow gladness; and she said to herself that she was thus adorning herself only to do honor to John, and to show how much she valued whatever came from his family, she at last put on the necklace.
Thus, adorned as she had been on the day of the wedding at Endringen,
Amrei came down from her room.