had not a finer horse, a better-behaved servant, a lovelier child or a
better wife, than Hansei had. Wherever she took Walpurga, the laborers
who were clearing the roads, or building bridges, would stop for a
while to look at the farmer's handsome wife and the child who, both in
dress and feature, was the very picture of her mother.
Stasi prepared an excellent meal. Walpurga had brought, as a gift,
enough butter and eggs to last for a great while. In the new
inspector's dwelling, as great honor was shown Walpurga as if she were
the queen herself.
At last, Walpurga set about making her purchases, and showed that she
was sensible and aware of what her position required. She always bought
the best of everything, and did not higgle long about the price.
They had returned to the dairy-farm, and Walpurga was on the point of
confiding a portion of her secret to Stasi, so as to put her on her
guard as to the king, when she heard of the distinguished man who, for
nearly four years past, had been living in the little town.
"Dear me! why he's the best friend I have!" said Walpurga. She handed
the child to Stasi and hurried off to Gunther's house. She felt as if
her heart would burst with joy, and was obliged to sit down before the
house, for a while, to get her breath.
But while she walked back to the farm, she did not once raise her eyes
from the ground. She could not. And what annoyed her most of all was
that she had told Stasi: "He's the best friend I have."
They expected her to tell about her visit, but all she could say was:
"Don't ask me to tell you what great folks are. If I were to begin I
couldn't get through before to-morrow, and I've got to go, or it'll be
dark before we get home."
Walpurga became quieter and sadder, the more Stasi and her husband
praised Doctor Gunther. She dared not tell what had happened to her.
This is all you get, thought she, if you depend on the respect which
others are to show you. Long after she had left them, Stasi and her
husband spoke of how strange and changeable Walpurga was. But she was
glad that she was no longer obliged to look any one in the face. And
now, at this late day, she was reminded of something that she had long
since forgotten. "Oh, dear mother!" said she aloud to herself. "You
were right. Everything in this world must be paid for, and now the gold
is to be paid for--but how?"
She seated her child upon her lap as though it was all that was left to
her. Sh
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