laid his hand on her back while Mary Ann milked; but
generally he found something else to do. And when Mary Ann said,
"Aloys, you are a good boy," he never looked up at her, but plied the
stable-broom so vehemently that it threatened to sweep the boulder-stones
out of the floor. In the barn he cut the feed needed for the day; and,
after all the work required in the lower story of the building--which,
in the Black Forest, as is well known, contains what in America is
consigned to the barn and outhouses--was finished, he mounted up-stairs
into the kitchen, carried water, split the kindling-wood, and at last
found his way into the room. Mary Ann brought the soup-bowl, set it on
the table, folded her hands, and, everybody having done the same, spoke
a prayer. All now seated themselves with a "God's blessing." The bowl
was the only dish upon the table, into which every one dipped his spoon,
Aloys often stealing a mouthful from the place where Mary Ann's spoon
usually entered. The deep silence of a solemn rite prevailed at the
table: very rarely was a word spoken. After the meal and another prayer,
Aloys trudged home.

Thus things went on till Aloys reached his nineteenth year, when, on
New-Year's day, Mary Ann made him a present of a shirt, the hemp of
which she had broken herself, and had spun, bleached, and sewed it. He
was overjoyed, and only regretted that it would not do to walk the
street in shirt-sleeves: though it was bitter cold, he would not have
cared for that in the least; but people would have laughed at him, and
Aloys was daily getting more and more sensitive to people's laughter.

[Illustration: The old squire's new hand.]

The main cause of this was the old squire's[2] new hand who had come
into the village last harvest. He was a tall, handsome fellow, with a
bold, dare-devil face appropriately set off with a reddish mustache.
George (for such was his name) was a cavalry soldier, and almost always
wore the cap belonging to his uniform. When he walked up the village of
a Sunday, straight as an arrow, turning out his toes and rattling his
spurs, every thing about him said, as plainly as words could speak, "I
know all the girls are in love with me;" and when he rode his horses
down to Jacob's pump to water them, poor Aloys' heart was ready to
burst as he saw Mary Ann look out of the window. He wished that there
were no such things as milk and butter in the world, so that he too
might be a horse-farmer.

Ine