to dinner Mr. Tiralla ate nothing, his appetite had
vanished, but he told them to bring him some beer. Rosa did not eat
anything either, she was too happy to eat. She jumped up every moment
from her chair to see what time it was. Was it not yet time to fetch
her dear brother?

Mrs. Tiralla also came to dinner, but only for a moment. Her eyes were
very red, like those of a person who has wept very much, or who feels
worn-out. She said she had a great deal to do still, and had no time
whatever for dinner, and ran into the kitchen again almost immediately,
where she began to mix flour and lard, break eggs, grate sugar, pound
spices, and stone raisins. She intended welcoming her son with a fresh
cake, warm from the oven, his favourite cake. That touched Mr. Tiralla.

When he got into the carriage with Rosa--she jumped up like a bird, but
he found difficulty in getting to his seat--his face looked brighter.
His lip, which was blue and swollen, no longer drooped so much that it
almost touched his chin.

Rosa had swung herself on to the front seat next to [Pg 178] her
father, and now and then she would take hold of his arm and press it,
or poll his ear or stroke his fat, bristly cheek, so that he could not
drive. But even if she had not played all these pranks in her great
happiness his driving would not have been up to much, for he began to
feel the effects of the wine and beer on an empty stomach. He would
have liked to sleep; his head fell first to the one side and then to
the other, and his eye was no longer steady. He, who generally drove as
straight as anybody, could not keep a bee-line to-day.

Roeschen chattered incessantly, even when her father did not answer her.
She spoke to the wind, as though it could understand her, and only
fanned her so merrily because it was just as happy as she.

The white gossamer threads blew over the big plain, where the fields
full of stubble were already being prepared again for the new seed, and
hung around the young girl's face. Rosa had put her prettiest dress on,
a light blue summer dress. It suited her well, and she did not feel at
all cold to-day, although she was very chilly as a rule. Her thin blood
coursed warmly through her veins and painted roses on her cheeks, that
were usually so pale. How happy she was!

"Mikolai, Mikolai," she sang to the wind. What did he look like?
Handsome and smart, of course, much handsomer and smarter than she
remembered him. Her eyes gleamed,