d been crying all day. She was of
medium height, had a withered, sinewy neck, very red cheeks, and
kind-looking, watery blue eyes. She was poorly dressed, but more neatly
than the smith, or even than Maria when she was living. In the midst of
her weeping, she nodded to the smith, to show that she too thought
Maria beautiful; but when she saw no signs of grief in him, she stopped
crying in surprise, almost in fear. Shaking her head, she looked
furtively, and from one side at the smith, and soon went out of the
room, as if she were uncomfortable near him. Then Fausch too left the
room and slept that night on a leather covered couch in the living
room. He did not concern himself about the baby, in fact he had not
troubled himself about it since the maid had taken it into her care.

The next day he attended to what remained to be done for his wife and
for her last journey to Waltheim. As he was fulfilling the legal
requirements concerning his dead wife, it occurred to him that he might
save himself a journey by arranging what was necessary for the child at
the same time. So he went to the registrar's office and informed the
clerk, in one breath, of Maria's death and of the child's birth. The
clerk, a pale young peasant, who had not been long in the place, and
whose bad health hindered him from earning his living by hard work,
wrote down without delay the details concerning Maria: Her name, the
date of her birth, of her death and so forth. Then they came to the
child. "On this day and date was born ..."

The clerk looked up; as a newcomer he had already a nervous manner, and
besides, the smith stood as close to him as if he had to guide his hand
in writing.

Stephen Fausch gave the child's name: "Cain Fausch."

"Aren't you making a mistake?" asked the clerk.

"Cain," repeated the smith. His eye rested steadily on the small blank
spot in the register, where the name was to stand, as if he were
nailing it in place.

"But--but I can't write that down," said the clerk, blushing.

"Must I tell you again!" grumbled Stephen. "I suppose we could have
chosen a better, smoother sounding name in the parish."

He spoke slowly, looking steadfastly at the paper, with his head thrust
forward like a butting ram. The bashful clerk was completely
intimidated by this speech. He recollected that even a bad name is
still a name, that he, himself, would not have to bear that name, and
that the smith, as a father, had the right to name hi