Landolin

Outside of the house there were two persons whom they would all have been glad to forget entirely. One was Anton. They heard nothing from him directly; for he had gone, with a large raft, down the Rhine to Holland. But all the people who came to the house-and gradually many began coming-expressed their regret that Anton was not to be his son-in-law; and their inquiries as to the cause were unceasing.

Whoever could have observed her closely must have seen that Thoma's eyebrows had sunk a degree lower since Anton went away. He had once told her that his father had often urged him to go to Rotterdam with a raft some time, and get acquainted with the daughters of his business friends there, and look around for a wife. There was already a Dutch woman in the neighborhood-a comfortable, clear-complexioned, good woman, also married to a miller; and Thoma fancied that Anton could be happy with such an honest, careful wife.

The second person whom they would have liked to forget was Cushion-Kate. She lived quietly, and scarcely spoke with any one; but every night she might have been seen with her lantern, at her son's grave. Whenever she met one of Landolin's family, she stopped and stared at them. She never returned their greeting, and always went out of her way to avoid Landolin himself.

Landolin's wife and Thoma had both taken great pains, personally and through friends, to help Cushion-Kate, but she refused everything.

"I will not be bought off by the murderer Landolin," was her invariable answer. She gathered grain in every field except Landolin's. Once, when crossing the bridge, on her way to the mill with her gleanings, she met him on horseback. She sprang before the horse, and cried: "Get off and drown yourself, you murderer! Ride on! Drive on! Whether you ride or drive, you carry your hell around with you! Get off and drown yourself!"

"Are you done? Then step out of my way," said Landolin, calmly. But as the old woman still clung to the horse's bridle, he cried angrily:

"Let go, or I'll let you feel my whip or set Racker at you!"

The dog understood his master's words. He set his paws on the woman's shoulders, and snapped at her red kerchief. She stepped back. Landolin made Racker drop the kerchief, and then rode on without a look at the old woman, who picked up her sack of wheat again. At home he did not mention the occurrence.

CHAPTER LV

It is unfortunate, as every one knows, when two horses hitched to the same wagon fail to pull evenly together. But no one can suppose that it is from malicious intention, and either horse might complain that it was all the fault of the other, and that it was only from a surly delight in obstinacy that he didn't put himself to the harness, and so pull the wagon along. But with two persons it is quite different; especially with those who have before pulled so well together as Peter and Tobias. The latter had of course noticed Peter's imperiousness and malignity; but he did not understand it, nor ask the reason for it, for he really gave the matter very little thought. This was no time for bickering and contentions as to which should outrank the other. Tobias thought to himself, "Only wait till after the harvest; then we'll have threshing-time." Peter likewise thought, "Only wait till the harvest is over; then I'll draw my hand over the measure and level it off." Tobias smilingly allowed Peter to give orders; he even scarcely looked up when Peter countermanded those which he had himself given to the servants and day-laborers. It is harvest-time; stormy weather would be injurious now, but a storm between people working together would be still worse.

Tobias gave the servants to understand that he was glad to let the little boy Peter sit in the saddle and manage the whip; for, thanks to his care, the wagon would move on safely.

Matters continued in this way during the whole harvest-time. Peter and Tobias stood opposite one another like two men that, with axes raised, ready to strike each other, wait a moment to draw their breath. When will the blow fall?

Landolin pretended to see or hear nothing that was taking place between the head-servant and his son. He had not had a confidential talk with Tobias since the evening after the trial. But Tobias was not concerned about it. A man does not say to the forest behind his house, "It's right for you to stay there and keep on growing;" and it was just as easy to imagine the mountains moving away with the forest as to think of Tobias leaving the farm, especially since he had helped, so cleverly and well, to have his master acquitted.

But Tobias often looked at his master to see if he would not say a word of reproof to Peter for his overbearing manner.

When Landolin could no longer avoid doing so, he said, shaking his finger and winking confidentially: "Let him alone. A horse that pulls so hard at first will soon let up."

But Peter did not let up. The principal part of the harvest was over. They were about to take the grain that had been threshed out on rainy days to market. This had been for many years Tobias's undisputed right, but Peter now declared that he would do it alone.

"It's not necessary for me to answer you," replied Tobias. "You are not the master. The farmer and I will show you who is master."

He called Landolin, and made his complaint to him. Landolin took a grain of wheat out of a sack that had just been filled; bit it in two; looked at the white meal, and nodded without giving a reply. But Tobias pressed him for an answer, and demanded to know whether he was in the farmer's service or in Peter's.

"Peter and I are now one and the same," said Landolin, at length, swallowing the grain of wheat, the first that had ripened since spring. He decided that it would be wisest to side with his son. Tobias could do him no more harm, and one need not be better than all the rest of the world; ingratitude is the world's wages. But still he did not want to appear ungrateful; so he said, when he had swallowed the wheat, "Be wise, Tobias."

"Wise? Who is master-you or Peter?"

"Peter," Landolin forced himself to say; and then turned away. It may be that Tobias is treated unjustly; it may be. But Landolin must look out for himself first. He thought he had burden enough of his own, without bearing other people's.

He went up the steps and stood on the porch.

Peter was triumphant.

"Did you hear that? Now listen to something more. You may go to-day, or to-morrow, or at this minute; the sooner you go, the better."

Tobias looked toward the stables, toward the barns, and toward the mountains to see if they were not shaking. "So I'm sent away-dismissed? I-by you?"

"Yes, yes, by the little boy you so willingly let play at being master, just for fun. I've calculated what is still coming to you."

"What is coming to me? And what price have you set on what I have done for you? For you, you acquitted man up there! – and for you, you-"

"If you want a witness fee, I'll give you four marks more," said Peter, with a sneer. "We're not afraid of you. Go and say that you gave false testimony, and see what you'll get by that. Father! don't speak-not a word; he has to deal with me."

"Well, it serves me right: I might have known it would be so. The stones that lay here then are now firmly bedded in the pavement; but, Peter, mark my words: Stones will fly through the air at you, till you are dead and buried. I am an innocent child in comparison with you. You will suffer for this."

"Prophesy, if you like. You know from experience what a good prophet you are. You understand what I mean."

Tobias groaned like a goaded bull; he pulled at his clothes; he evidently wanted to rush upon Peter: but Peter stood still and lit a fresh pipe. Tobias clenched his hands upon his breast, and, without another word, went to his room.

CHAPTER LVI

The wind whistled over the stubble, and when they awoke in the morning, the first snow lay high upon the crest of the mountain. The powerful autumn sun soon melted it, and laughing rills ran down through all the little channels to the river in the valley.

It was St. Ægidius 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 Titus, 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 God, 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 God, 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?"