"Does the fowl also belong to the inventory?" said the woman to the lawyer, who stood near her amongst the peasants.
"But, Mrs Oberhage, such a trifle!"
"Does the chicken belong to the inventory?"
"Yes."
"Child, we must leave the chicken here. I will give you another."
"I won't leave my chicken; I take my white chicken with me." The child was crying.
The little fat judge, observant of the incident, rose from his seat. "Mrs Oberhage, let the child have the chicken. With the permission of the Herr Regierungsrath I make you a present of it."
The child jumped for joy, and the chicken remained perched upon her little hands.
For a moment there was a struggle in the breast of the farmer's wife. She looked at her joyous child, she gazed around her at the house and farm she was about to quit; then, with sudden resolution, she went to the little girl, took the bird from her arms, and let it run away. "Judge," she said, turning to the magistrate, "sorry as I am for the poor child's sake, I nevertheless can accept nothing, as a gift, from you and the counsellor."
But she could hardly complete the sentence. The resolute woman's strength seemed suddenly broken, and hot tears gushed from her eyes. Snatching up the weeping child, she pressed it to her breast, and hid her agitated countenance in its rich golden curls.