Part 31 (1/2)
It was St. aegidius Sunday, shortly before church time, when Tobias went to the farmer's wife, who was sitting in the living-room, and said:
”Mistress, I've come to say good-bye to you, and thank you for all your kindness through these many years. You know I've been dismissed.” The farmer's wife nodded. ”By Peter,” continued Tobias, ”by Peter, not by the farmer; that I see plainly enough, though he did give his consent.
But he isn't of any account any more. For your sake, Mistress, I wish the house no evil as long as you live. I've deserved to have this happen to me; it serves me quite right. Why did I lie, and say before the court that Vetturi threw a stone at the Master? Why, the shaky fellow couldn't have lifted one of those paving-stones. It serves me right; and Peter is smart. He carries things with a high hand. He knows that I can't say this to anybody but you, and you knew it before.
Wherever else I'd say it, they'd laugh at me, and despise me into the bargain. Now good-bye, and I hope you'll see many happy years yet.”
A cold shudder crept over the farmer's wife. Her hands trembled and her head moved from one side of the great chair to the other. But at length she controlled herself and said:
”I beg you, for my sake, don't say this to any one else. Give me your hand on it.”
Tobias hesitated, but he could not withstand her imploring look. So he grasped her cold hand.
”Where are you going when you leave here?” asked she.
”You are the first that's asked me that. What do the others care for a dismissed servant, even though he has served them so many years? I'm going to my brother, the teamster's.”
”Take him my greeting. And you shall soon come back again--I'll fix that.”
”No, I think not. I'll not come back again. I've laid by something, and perhaps I can get another place. I won't go to t.i.tus, but perhaps Anton will take me when he comes home. So again farewell.”
”Farewell, and keep up a brave heart.”
The farmer's wife looked through the window as Tobias, with his brother's help, lifted his great chest into the wagon. It looked almost like a coffin. She stepped back from the window, and called a maid to help her to her bed.
Landolin and Thoma were frightened when they were summoned to her bedside. She lay with her back to them, and without turning around she said, ”Don't be frightened; I'll soon be all right again.” Landolin knew in a moment that Tobias had been doing mischief here, so he said:
”I shouldn't have let the rascally fellow come up to see you alone.
Before my eyes he wouldn't have dared to pour his stupid spite into your--into your good heart.”
Such an affectionate word caused his wife to turn over and grasp her husband's hand. Holding her hand in one of his, and stroking it gently with the other, Landolin continued:
”Yes, one only finds an unfaithful man out when it's too late. When a servant is discharged, his hidden meanness shows itself. Tobias has the impudence to say that he invented a lie for my sake. It's infamous how malicious the greatest simpleton can yet be. But, thank G.o.d, what he says won't make any difference with you.”
His wife looked at him with glistening eyes; and casting a sidelong glance at Thoma, Landolin continued:
”I must beg Peter's pardon; I didn't know him. He's smart; smarter than--than I knew. We send Tobias away, and that is the best proof that we, thank G.o.d, have nothing to hide. But I've talked enough. Not another angry word shall escape my lips. You know I'm going to confession to-day?”
The farmer's wife lay perfectly quiet. She felt chilly, but she begged the family to go to church; for the bells were just ringing.
Landolin went, and not without great self-satisfaction. To be sure, it was not a difficult matter to deceive his confiding wife; but Thoma had received a hit at the same time. She deserved it for her obstinate hard-heartedness; for of course she must know in what direction the praise of Peter led.
Thoma stayed with her mother, who prayed quietly.
CHAPTER LVII.
Up the same road over which Landolin had pa.s.sed the night after the celebration, now came, on this clear autumn Sunday, the judge's wife. A scoffer, who knew her thoughts, might have said to her: Not the intoxication of wine alone makes a man talk to himself, and changes his view of everything; and, worse still, the recovery from an over-indulgence in exciting thought is, perhaps, even bitterer.
This might have been said, and still the lady would not have stopped in her walk. Obeying a voice from within and not from without, she felt that she ought no longer delay in an effort to establish peace and quietness in Landolin's house, and peace between them and Cus.h.i.+on-Kate.