Part 25 (1/2)

”Let him crawl,” cried Brasig.

”So?” asked Frau Nussler. ”Do you say so? But I say otherwise. Jochen is not accustomed to trouble himself about such things; for all he cares, every one of our servant-maids might fall in love. Idle about, and get married; and I--G.o.d bless me! I have both hands full of work, and enough to find fault with before my eyes, without looking after what goes on behind my back.”

”What am I for, then?” asked Brasig.

”Oh, you!” said Frau Nussler, off hand, ”you have no experience in such matters.”

”What!” exclaimed Brasig. ”I, who once had three sweethearts----” He went no further, for Frau Nussler put on a long face, and looked at him with so much curiosity, that he covered his embarra.s.sment by drinking the k.u.mmel in his gla.s.s.

”A miserable piece of business!” he cried, standing up, ”and who is to blame for it all? Young Jochen!”

”Eh, Brasig, what have I to do with it?”

”You let the crown-prince eat up the breakfast, under your very nose, and take two ministerial candidates into your house, and don't know what to do about it! But, never mind, Frau Nussler, take the two young fellows in, and don't be afraid. I will look after the little rogue, and the two confounded rascals shall catch thunder and lightning. The fighter, the duel-fighter--I will take care of him; but you must keep an eye on the proselyter; they are the slyest.”

”Well, we can't do otherwise,” said Frau Nussler, also rising.

And at Michaelmas the two clerical recruits arrived at head-quarters, and Franz went away to the agricultural college at Eldena, and as he went out of the Pastor's garden, there looked after him, over the fence, in the same place where Fritz had sat, with his bread and b.u.t.ter and his beer-bottle, a dear, beautiful face, and the face looked like a silken, rose-red purse, out of which the last groschen had been given for a dear friend.

When Louise came back into the parlor, in the twilight, that evening, the Frau Pastor in took the lovely girl upon her lap, and kissed the sweet mouth, and pressed the pure heart to her own. Well the women-folks can't help doing such things!

CHAPTER XIV.

The evening before St. John's day, 1843, David Dasel's oldest boy was sitting with Johann Degel's youngest girl, in the pleasure-garden at Pumpelhagen, enjoying the moonlight, and Fika Degel said to Krischan Dasel, ”Say, did you see her, that time, when you took the horses to the young Herr?”

”To be sure I saw her; he took me into the parlor, and shewed her to me, and said, 'See, this is your gracious lady!' and she filled me a gla.s.s, that I should drink there.”

”What does she look like?”

”Well,” said Krischan, ”it is hard to describe her; let me see, she is about your size, and has such light hair as yours, and just such a pink and white face, and she has grey eyes also, as you have, and just such a little, old, sweet, pouting mouth,” and with that, he pressed a hearty kiss on the red lips.

”Gracious, Krischan!” cried Fika, freeing herself from his arm, ”then does she look just like me?”

”Child, have you no more sense than that?” said Krischan. ”No, don't flatter yourself to that extent! You see, that sort of people have always a something about them, quite different from our sort. The gracious lady might sit here with me, till she were frozen to death in midsummer, it would never come into my head to give her a kiss.”

”So?” said Fika Degel, standing up, and tossing her pretty head, ”then you think I am good enough for you?”

”Fika,” said Krischan, throwing his arm round her again, though she made a show of resistance, ”that sort are too slender-waisted, and have too weak bones for us, if I should hug her as I do you, I should always be afraid of dislocating her spine, or knocking her down. No,” said he, stroking her soft hair, ”like must mate with like.” And as they separated, Fika was quite gracious again towards her Krischan, and looked as friendly as if she were his gracious lady.

”Well, I shall see you to-morrow,” said she, ”I am going to help the girls tie wreaths, in the morning.”

And so she did. Yes, they were tying wreaths in Pumpelhagen, and a great gate of honor was constructed, and while Habermann was overseeing the preparations, and Marie Moller was running hither and thither, with greens and flowers, and Fritz Triddelsitz, as a volunteer of the first cla.s.s, in his green hunting-jacket, and white leather breeches, and yellow top-boots, and a blood-red neck-handkerchief, strutted about among the farm-boys and day-laborers, there arrived upon the scene Uncle Brasig also, neat as wax, in light-blue, tight summer trousers, and a brown dress-coat, of unknown antiquity, which covered his back very well, down to the calves, but in front he looked as if the lightning had struck him, and torn off his brown bark, leaving exposed a long strip of yellow wood, for he wore under it a fine, yellow pique vest. On his head he had, of course, a silk hat, three-quarters of an ell high.

”Good morning, Karl! How are you getting on? Ha, ha! There stands already the whole concern. Fine, Karl! The arch should be a little higher, though, and right and left you should have a couple of towers; I have seen them so in old Friedrich Franz's time, at Gustrow, when he came home in triumph. But where is your flag?”

”Flag?” said Habermann, ”we have none.”

”Karl, bethink yourself! How can you celebrate without a flag? The Herr Lieutenant is a military character, of course he must have a flag.

Moller!” he went on, without hesitation, ”go into the house, and bring me out two sheets, and sew them together lengthways; Krischan Pasel, bring me a nice, smooth, straight beanpole; and you, Triddelsitz, get me the brush that you mark bags with, and an inkstand!”