Landolin Part 38

"And what?"

Peter shot a startled glance, perhaps also an evil one, at his father, when he spoke these words so sharply, but he repeated them still more sharply: "And what? Speak out. You could speak well enough a while ago."

Peter was evidently struggling with his anger, when he replied, in a calm tone:

"I don't know why, but the black horse isn't good for riding now. You can't ride him."

"I can't? I can ride the wildest horse!" cried Landolin, lifting his clenched hand; and going to the stall, he unfastened the horse.

Landolin had said these words with no double meaning, but because his pride was hurt by the hint that there was a horse which he was not able to ride. But Peter understood the words to have a different meaning; he thought his father had meant to say that he should be able to get the better of him again.

The black horse was saddled; Landolin unchained his dog and mounted.

Thoma had come out into the yard, and her father gave her his hand, saying, "If we were not in mourning you should fasten a sprig of rosemary on my coat with a red ribbon." The cows were just then let out to drink, and Landolin cried, "Thoma, you shall have the prize cow. May G.o.d keep you! Peter, give me your hand. I'll often come up from the saw-mill to see you."

He urged his horse forward, so that it reared and struck sparks from the paving-stones at the very spot where Vetturi had fallen.

Landolin mastered it with a strong hand. His son and daughter watched him from the gateway as he let the horse prance down the road; their father appeared again in all his old stateliness; and where the road bends into the forest toward the valley he turned around and lifted his hat in greeting.

As Thoma turned again toward the house an open carriage drove up from the other side, and in it sat the judge's wife with her brother the counselor. They stopped and got out. They had come to comfort the mourners, and the judge's wife heard, to her great joy, on what mission Landolin had gone.

CHAPTER LXVIII.

While Landolin was riding to the valley, Peter had saddled the other horse for himself, had dressed himself in his Sunday clothes, and now, wrapped in his mantle and noticed by no one, took the road to the city, across the bridge that was almost covered by the water.

At the Crown Inn he ordered a pint of beer without dismounting. Then he trotted up the opposite hill to the plateau where t.i.tus lived.

Peter did not look around much, but once he stopped to observe a strange sight; for on the rocks by the roadside were a large number of hawks. There were evidently young ones among them, whom the old ones were talking to, and encouraging to fly. They tried it, and in their outcries there must have been great pride and happiness; the nest was so narrow, the air is so wide, and prey that can be caught and killed is flying everywhere. And when the young ones have learned to fly, they care no more for the old ones.

"Where are you going so soon?" Peter was asked. The questioner was Fidelis, his former servant, who was now in t.i.tus' service.

"Glad I've met you. Is t.i.tus at home, and----?"

He was probably about to say, "and his daughter too." But he kept that part of it back. Fidelis said "Yes;" and without wasting another word on him, Peter rode on.

t.i.tus' farmhouse was not so isolated as Landolin's; there were several cottages near by. t.i.tus had bought the houses and fields from----emigrants, and had added them to his farm. The gates were wide open, and things were going on merrily inside. A large hog had just been killed, and t.i.tus' daughter stood beside it with her sleeves rolled up.

"There comes Peter of Reutershofen," said the butcher, taking a knife from between his teeth. "What does he want so soon? His mother was only buried yesterday."

Peter called out welcome to t.i.tus' daughter, and jumping nimbly from his horse, he held out his hand to her. But she said her hands were wet; she could not give him one; and she disappeared.

Peter went into the living-room, where t.i.tus sat at a large table, figuring on some papers that lay before him.

"Oh, that's you!" he called out to Peter; "you're come just in time for butcher's soup. Sit down."

Peter did not use much ceremony, but told his wish. His mother was dead; his father had gone to see Anton to-day to straighten out matters for Thoma again; and was going to give up the farm and live with her at the saw-mill. "So," said Peter, in conclusion, "you know what I want. I need a wife."

"You go ahead quickly," replied t.i.tus; "but I have no objection. Have you already spoken to Marianne?"

"Not exactly; but I guess it'll be all right."

"I think so too. Shall I call her?"

"Yes."

t.i.tus sent a maid for his daughter; but she sent back, asking her father to "come to her for a few minutes."

"What does that mean?" said t.i.tus. He was not used to have his children oppose any of his orders. "Excuse me," he said to Peter; and left the room.

Peter felt cornered: how would it be if he had to ride home dejected?

Perhaps he had a suspicion of what was going on between t.i.tus and his daughter; for she said:

"Father, do you want me to take Peter? Yesterday his mother was buried, and to-day he goes courting."

t.i.tus declared that that was of no consequence, and when Marianne began to express a dislike, an aversion, to Peter, he interrupted her peremptorily.

"Peter is a substantial farmer. So there's nothing more to be said about it. You must take him. Put on another dress and make haste to come in."

He returned to Peter, and said, "The matter is arranged."

But Marianne said to the old maid-servant in her bedroom, "I take him because I must; but he shall pay for it. He shall find out who I am."

She entered the room. Peter held out his hand to her, simply saying that this was only for the present; that to-morrow or Sunday his father would come and ask for her hand in the usual form.

"Yes, your father," interrupted t.i.tus. "Does he know that you are here?"

"It isn't necessary for my father to know; the farm has been in my hands for a long time, and I've only let him appear to be of some consequence before the world."

"Yes; but does your father know that I was one of those who said guilty?"

"No, he need never know it."

While they were speaking a man came with the message that Peter must come immediately to Anton's saw-mill, for Landolin was in great danger.

Just as the butcher's soup was served, and Peter's mouth was watering for it, he was obliged to leave.

CHAPTER LXIX.

The wild water rushes from mountain to valley. It flows and splashes through all the ditches. Even through the middle of the road a small brook has torn its way. It is all so merry, and to-morrow it will not be there.