here was an
unmarried daughter. When you go a-courting among us, you pretend to mean
to buy a horse. That's the fashion. With us, a lie doesn't wear French
rouge. The parents of Marianne (that was her name) made me welcome.
Brown Bess was brought from the stable, and her neck, legs, and teeth
examined. I showed my willingness to buy her, which meant as much as to
say, 'Your daughter pleases me.' As proud as you please, I walked
through the buildings. Everything in plenty, all right, not a nail
wanting on the harrow, nor a cord missing from the harness. How I
strutted! I saw myself master, and I was tickled to death to be as rich
as my brother.

"But I reckoned without my host. On tiptoe I stole into the kitchen,
where my sweetheart was frying ham and eggs. I thought I might snatch a
kiss. Above the noise of the sizzling frying-pan and the crackling wood,
I plainly heard the voice of my--well, let us say it--bride, weeping and
complaining to an old house servant: 'It's a shame and a sin to enter
matrimony with a lie. I can't wed this Michael: not because he is ugly;
that doesn't matter in a man, but he comes too late! My heart belongs
to poor Joseph, the woodcutter, and I'd sooner be turned out of doors
than to make a false promise. Money blinds my mother's eyes!' Don't be
surprised, little sister, that I remember these words so well. A son
doesn't forget his father's blessing, nor a prisoner his sentence. This
was my sentence to poverty and single-blessedness. I sent word to
Marianne that she should be happy--and so she was.

"But now to my own story. I worked six years as farm hand for my rich
brother, and then love overtook me. The little housemaid caught me in
the net of her golden locks. What a fuss it made in our family! A
peasant's pride is as stiff as that of your 'Vous' and 'Zus.' My girl
had only a pair of willing hands and a good heart to give to an ugly,
pock-marked being like me. My mother (God grant her peace!) caused her
many a tear, and when I brought home my Lotte she wouldn't keep the
peace until at last she found out that happiness depends on kindness
more than on money. On the patch of land that I bought, my wife and I
lived as happily as people live when there's love in the house and a bit
of bread to spare. We worked hard and spent little. A long, scoured
table, a wooden bench or so, a chest or two of coarse linen, and a few
pots and pans--that was our furniture. The walls had never tasted
whitewa