ehind the
cattle-rack. "To whom are you talking there?"

"To him."

"To whom?"

Marie shoved the clover aside, and said, "Father, look at me! Can you
not see that it is written here that Carl loves me? There is not a spot
in my face that he has not kissed. See here, father, look at this
half-ducat. We chopped one in two; Charles has the other half. There!"

Then she piled the clover up again so that her father should not see
her. He kept on cursing and swearing. She was glad, however, that she
had spoken out at last. Still, Marie was greatly embarrassed. The
little circle in which she moved was her world, and she could not bear
being talked about by the world, for preferring the son of the poorest
cottager to the son of the rich miller.

On the other hand, she took great pleasure in hearing Carl discussed.
He had always said, "I don't like it that Marie is so rich. I don't
need much. If I have enough to eat and drink and my clothes, I am
satisfied; and if I have any children, they shall be like me in this
respect. I do not care to be like the great farmers, and have money in
the funds. I do not find that they are happier, more jovial, and
healthier than their servants."

The schoolmaster also spoke of Carl: "He was my best pupil, and learnt
the most; and when, as a soldier, he received his first furlough, he
came to visit me first of all. He waited before the door until the
school was dismissed, when he accompanied me home and thanked me. Yes,
he will succeed in life."

In short, Carl has the qualities which we wish the people to possess:
he is bright, clever, and active; is not dissatisfied with his lot, and
is modest and frugal.

Martha did not merely place the flowers from the meadow before me, she
also brought blossoms from the kind hearts of our villagers; for, as
beautiful flowers grow among nettles, so can genuine feeling be found
coupled with rudeness. We had to return to our quiet life, for, in
spite of our heavy thoughts which were far away, the present demanded
our attention.

In irrigating our meadows, we were frequently forced to protect
ourselves against the tricks of the meadow farmer. The traps are set in
the evening, and at night or early in the morning they are drawn up;
for the meadows need cool water, that which the sun has warmed being
injurious.

As the meadow farmer did not sleep well, he used to go out to the ditch
and turn our water into his meadows.

Rothfuss found this out, and