dkerchief round her neck with a
beautiful brooch that had four medals to the Virgin dangling from it,
and then drew on her cloak and hood.

"Here, come and fasten this buckle," called Herr Brechenmacher. He stood
in the kitchen puffing himself out, the buttons on his blue uniform
shining with an enthusiasm which nothing but official buttons could
possibly possess. "How do I look?"

"Wonderful," replied the little Frau, straining at the waist buckle and
giving him a little pull here, a little tug there. "Rosa, come and look
at your father."

Herr Brechenmacher strode up and down the kitchen, was helped on with
his coat, then waited while the Frau lighted the lantern.

"Now, then--finished at last! Come along."

"The lamp, Rosa," warned the Frau, slamming the front door behind them.

Snow had not fallen all day; the frozen ground was slippery as an
icepond. She had not been out of the house for weeks past, and the day
had so flurried her that she felt muddled and stupid--felt that Rosa had
pushed her out of the house and her man was running away from her.

"Wait, wait!" she cried.

"No. I'll get my feet damp--you hurry."

It was easier when they came into the village. There were fences to
cling to, and leading from the railway station to the Gasthaus a little
path of cinders had been strewn for the benefit of the wedding guests.

The Gasthaus was very festive. Lights shone out from every window,
wreaths of fir twigs hung from the ledges. Branches decorated the
front doors, which swung open, and in the hall the landlord voiced his
superiority by bullying the waitresses, who ran about continually with
glasses of beer, trays of cups and saucers, and bottles of wine.

"Up the stairs--up the stairs!" boomed the landlord. "Leave your coats
on the landing."

Herr Brechenmacher, completely overawed by this grand manner, so far
forgot his rights as a husband as to beg his wife's pardon for jostling
her against the banisters in his efforts to get ahead of everybody else.

Herr Brechenmacher's colleagues greeted him with acclamation as he
entered the door of the Festsaal, and the Frau straightened her brooch
and folded her hands, assuming the air of dignity becoming to the wife
of a postman and the mother of five children. Beautiful indeed was the
Festsaal. Three long tables were grouped at one end, the remainder
of the floor space cleared for dancing. Oil lamps, hanging from the
ceiling, shed a warm, bright light on