"Yes, to be sure," said Amrei; "whoever has those wheels can roll through the world. But tell me, John—did coffee ever taste to you in your whole life like this? And the fresh white bread! Only you have ordered too much; we cannot manage all this. The bread I shall take with me, but it's a pity about the good coffee. How many poor people could be refreshed by it, and we must let it go to waste. And yet you have to pay for it just the same."
"That's no matter; one cannot figure so accurately in the world."
"Yes, yes, you are right. You see, I have been accustomed to do with little. You must not take it amiss if I say things of that kind—I do it without thinking."
Presently Amrei got up. Her face was glowing, and when she stood before the glass, she exclaimed:
"Gracious heavens! How can it be? All this seems almost impossible!"
"Well, there are still some hard planks to pierce; but I am not worrying about that. Now lie down and rest for a short time while I look for a Bernese chaise-wagon—you can't ride on horseback with me in the daytime—and we want one anyway."
"I cannot sleep—I have a letter to write to Haldenbrunn. I am away from there now, and yet I enjoyed a great many good times there. And I have other matters to settle, besides."
"Very well, do that until I come back."
John went out, and Amrei wrote a long letter to the Magistrate in Haldenbrunn, thanking the entire community for benefits received, and promising to adopt a child from the place some day, if it were possible; and she once more begged to have Black Marianne's hymn-book placed under the good old woman's head. When she had finished, she sealed the letter and pressed her lips tight together with the remark:
"So! Now I have done my duty to the people of Haldenbrunn."