ther too; and then I mean to take my Jack Adam, and my brothers and
sisters, and my parents with me, and my three grandchildren that are
gone, and we'll all sit down together and talk about you and pray for
you; and then you must be happy. Hedwig, I leave you my necklace,
you'll find it in the closet there. And there's a wreath beside it,
from my wedding: take good care of it: it will bring blessings down on
you. Let your children smell at it after the christening. And, though
you should get married soon after I go, you must have music at your
wedding. Do you hear? You sha'n't be grieving for me, and the
seven-league dance you must dance for me: I will look down on you with
joy, and the whole family up there shall celebrate the wedding too."

The lovers tried to dispel her anticipations of death; but she replied,
"I feel just as if somebody was pulling my arm all the time, and
saying, 'Make haste: it's time.' But it isn't hard enough yet: it must
come harder. You mustn't cry now: don't. I am going into good hands,
a'n't I? I thank the Lord for having let me live long enough to see
Hedwig get a good husband. Love each other, and honor each other.

"Hedwig, he's a studied man, and they often get kinks into their heads:
I know that from my sister. You must have patience with him. These
studied men have very different notions from other folks, sometimes,
and then they let them out the wrong way and to the wrong person. And
you, teacher, when you get my Hedwig, my dear Hedwig----" She could not
speak further: the girl lay on her neck, weeping.

The old woman had spoken quite fluently, her cough having disappeared
entirely; now, however, she sank upon her pillow exhausted. The lovers
stood looking upon her sadly. At last she raised herself again, and
said, "Hedwig, go and ask Valentine's Christina to stay with me: I
sha'n't die to-day yet. You mustn't come to me again all day. Go, now,
both of you, and be in good spirits: promise me to be in good spirits."

The teacher executed the commission she had given to Hedwig, and then
both were dismissed from the bedside. Their hearts continued to quiver
with sadness until they had seen Buchmaier's Agnes, who managed to
enliven them with her usual chat and raillery.

Then they walked in the fields, followed by the white hen. The seed was
not yet in the ground,--so that there was no objection to her being at
large. The breath of Nature recalled their souls to the full gladness
of t