e hugged and kissed it and, at last, it fell asleep, resting
upon her heart. She grew calmer, although she keenly felt the wrong
that had been done her, and wondered what might yet be in store for
her. When, while in her old home, the envy and enmity of the villagers
had annoyed her, she could easily console herself with the fact that
they were simple, ignorant people; but what could she say now? Was she
to experience her old troubles over again? And there was no one to whom
she could confide them; her mother was gone; she could not tell Hansei
and, least of all, Irmgard.

It was twilight when she at last caught a glimpse of home. Mustering up
all her courage, she said to herself:

"The best thing I can do is to let suspicion rest on me until I die, or
till she dies; for then no one will come near us, and I needn't have
any fear for my dear Irma, who has far more to bear than I have. Thank
God, I didn't betray my secret; and how lucky it is, she's now going up
into the wilds where no one will find her."

Full of courage, she went into the house and told Hansei of her visit
to Stasi, but nothing more.

"I have borne it alone, thus far," said she to herself. "I'll do so,
hereafter."

With great self-command, she assumed a cheerful air while with Hansei
and Irma, and romped with her boy, for whom she had bought a little
wooden horse.

CHAPTER V.

The evening of preparation was an unquiet one. Hansei, who had much to
do, would again and again busy himself with the cow-bells, the tones of
which pleased him greatly. He had purchased a well-tuned set, and Irma
had praised them when he showed them to her.

They went to bed early, for, on the next morning, they would have to
rise long before daybreak.

Hansei, who had been asleep for some time, awoke and heard Walpurga
crying and sobbing.

"For God's sake! what's the matter?"

"Oh, if mother were only living!" said Walpurga. "If I only still had
my mother!"

"Don't act so. Don't cry, now; it's sinful!"

"What? A sin to mourn for my mother?"

"It all depends on how you mourn. I've often heard it said that, so
long as grass hasn't grown over the grave, you may weep for the dead
without doing harm to them or the living. After that, there should be
no more weeping for the dead; for, as the old proverb says: 'It wets
their clothes in the other world.' Don't fall into sinful ways,
Walpurga. Your mother lived out her time, and thu