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Updated: May 19, 2025
He was raging now with pain and chagrin. The one hope for Gretchen now lay in the Black Eagle; and into the tavern she darted excitedly. "Fräu Bauer," she cried, gasping as much in wrath as for lack of breath, "may I come behind your counter?" "To be sure, child. Whatever is the matter?" Wallenstein's entrance was answer sufficient.
My kind Mother, for as such I must ever love the good Gretchen, did me one altogether invaluable service: she taught me, less indeed by word than by act and daily reverent look and habitude, her own simple version of the Christian Faith.
Gretchen and her granny were up by daybreak each morning. After their simple breakfast of oatmeal, Gretchen would run to the little closet and fetch Granny's old woolen shawl, which seemed almost as old as Granny herself. Gretchen always claimed the right to put the shawl over Granny's head, even though she had to climb onto the wooden bench to do it.
He heard first Master Mead's rich voice utter a note of surprise, and then several female voices. He thought he could distinguish Mary's. It was very low, though. Master Mead was the first to come out and welcome him, and in a few seconds he was in the presence of Mary and Gretchen and the two old ladies.
Gretchen took up the empty tankard and made off. The eyes of the two men followed her till she reached the dim bar, then their glances swung round and met. Carmichael was first to speak, not because he was forced to, but because it was his fancy at that moment to give the vintner the best of it. "She is a fine girl." "Yes," tentatively. "She is the handsomest peasant I ever saw or knew."
It as was if Arthur, from the top of the highest peak beyond the Rocky Mountains, and Gretchen, from her lonely grave in far-off Germany, were calling to each other across two continents, their voices meeting and mingling together in the Tramp House in a jubilistic strain, now wild and weird like the cry of the dying woman looking out into the stormy night, now soft and low as the lullaby a fond mother sings to her sleeping child, and now swelling louder and louder, and higher and higher, until the rafters rang with the joyous music, and the whole world outside was filled with the song of gladness.
"Yes, dearie," said Granny, "only five days more now," and then she sighed, but little Gretchen was so happy that she did not notice Granny's sigh. "What do you think, Granny, I'll get this Christmas?" said she, looking up eagerly into Granny's face. "Ah, child, child," said Granny, shaking her head, "you'll have no Christmas this year. We are too poor for that."
Just what this mug was for none of the household knew until Grace Atherton, who had travelled in Europe, and to whom Mrs. Tracy showed it one day when Arthur was out, said: 'Why, it is a beer-mug, such as is used in Germany, though more particularly among the Bavarian Alps and in the Tyrol. This Gretchen is probably a tippler, with a red nose and a double chin.
Benjamin will learn. I go away when the swallows go, and no more come when the swallows bring the spring on their wings again. Teach Benjamin to be his good self all the time; make him good here." All the Indian visitors who came to the place examined the violin cautiously, and the Indian hunters seemed to regard Gretchen with suspicion.
And my Gretchen is greater than Scheffer's." What else mattered very much, after all, except what they would say in Paris of Gretchen? People saw that Bébée had grown very quiet. But that was all they saw.
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