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Updated: May 19, 2025
"So!" said little Pauline; and then, after a pause, "That is why thy mother kissed thee when thy head ached because she is an angel. When I was sick my mother bade Gretchen carry me to a far part of the house, because I cried and so troubled her. Did thy mother ever strike thee, Otto?" "Nay," said Otto. "Mine hath often struck me," said Pauline.
"But, mother, your English ancestors once wandered about in sheep-skins, and worshiped the oaks; the whole English race, and the German race, were made what they are by teachers teachers who gave themselves to a cause almost two thousand years ago." "Yes, I suppose that is so. But, Gretchen, I want your heart; I never thought that you would give it to the Injuns.
Her husband was away from home during the working days of the week, at the saw and shingle mill on the Columbia, and during the same days Gretchen was much at school. The summer in the mountain valleys of Washington is a long serenity.
All this was of no avail. She had scarcely left than I again abandoned myself to my grief, and ever recalled alternately the images, both of my affection and passion, and of the present and possible misfortune. I repeated to myself tale after tale, saw only unhappiness following unhappiness, and did not fail in particular to make Gretchen and myself truly wretched.
Each one had previously rated his services in money, and I asked them to assist me also in completing my establishment. Gretchen had listened to all hitherto very attentively, and that in a position which well suited her, whether she chose to hear or to speak. With both hands she clasped her folded arms, and rested them on the edge of the table.
The younger cousin, sitting opposite to us by the slate, had crossed his arms before him, and slept with his face resting upon them. I sat in the window-corner, behind the table, and Gretchen by me. We talked in a low voice: but at last sleep overcame her also; she leaned her head on my shoulder, and sank at once into a slumber.
The Prince was standing near. Seeing me approach, his teeth gleamed for an instant. "Ah," said Gretchen, "here is Herr Winthrop, who is to take me in to supper." It was cleverly done, I thought. Even the Prince was of the same mind. He appreciated all these phases. As we left them and passed in toward the supper room, I whispered: "I love you!"
From the first the expression of her love does not ring perfectly true. We suspect her of phrase-making, she is quite too ethereal and ecstatic for a plain fiddler's daughter. No trace here of that homely poetic realism, Gretchen at the wash-tub, or Lotte cutting bread and butter, with which Goethe knew how to invest his bourgeois maidens.
This little girl is Arthur's idol, and has succeeded in luring him from his den, in which, until she came, he was staying closer than ever. Now, however, he is with her constantly, either in the house or in the grounds, or sitting under a tree holding her in his lap, while he talks his strange talk to the other Gretchen, and the child listens wonderingly, with her great blue eyes fixed upon him.
He had returned no calls, and had been but once to the cottage in the lane to see Mrs. Crawford. That interview had been a long and sad one, and when they talked of Amy, whose grave Arthur had visited on his way to the cottage, both had cried together, and Gretchen seemed for the time forgotten.
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