Part 155 (1/2)

”This is the only place where you can sing, up here. You can't do it over there, where the road leads into the village,” cried Gundel, after the first song. ”If you sing, or speak a loud word there, the echo drowns it all.”

She ran to the spot and sang a few notes, which were echoed again and again from every mountain and ravine.

”You ought to sing, too,” said Walpurga to Irma; ”you've no idea how well she can sing.”

”I cannot sing,” replied Irma; ”my voice is gone.”

”Then play something for us; you can play the zither beautifully,” said Walpurga.

All joined in the request, and Irma was at last obliged to play. The little pitchman held his breath. He had never heard such beautiful playing before, and not one, thought he, knew what Irma could do. She soon modulated into the familiar melody, and the little pitchman was the first to start the song:

Oh, blissful is the tender tie.

It was a happy, cheerful hour.

Hansei now conducted his wife, Irma, and the little pitchman to the spot from which they could catch a glimpse of the lake near their old home. It sparkled brightly in the sun, and Hansei remarked that it seemed like the look of a human being who had known him from youth up.

Walpurga was afraid lest the scene might awaken sad thoughts in Irma, and turned toward her; but she only said: ”It pleases me, too.”

Hansei now described the whole neighborhood to Irma, told her where this and that place lay, and showed her the mountain where he had planted so many trees. The forest itself could not be seen, but the rocky peak which rose from it was visible.

Walpurga, meanwhile, drew her uncle aside, and said:

”Uncle, my mother's dead--”

”Yes, I know it, and you can't think more of her than I do. Just ask Irmgard how often we talk of her. It always seems to me as if she must be in the next room. It isn't far to heaven from where we now are. She can hear every word we say.”

”Yes, uncle; but let me finish what I was going to say. I've got something to tell you.”

It went hard with the uncle to listen quietly, for he always had so much to say himself. Without noticing his repeated interruptions, Walpurga continued:

”Uncle, you're a sensible man--”

”May be, but it hasn't done me much good in life.”

”Now I want to tell you something--”

”Very well; out with it.”

”I'm in trouble about Irmgard--”

”You needn't worry about her. I watch her as if she was the apple of my eye. Make yourself quite easy on that score.”

”Yes, uncle, I know all about that; but there are some awful wicked people in the world, and they'll follow you up to the very mountain-tops--”

”Yes, I know; the gend'arme often--”

”Uncle, do listen to me patiently!”