United States or Tanzania ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
All day long Cain helped his father in the shop; but when, at Simmen's wish, the smith took an apprentice, Cain had more free time and could help Katharine, who was no longer very strong, or else he was called on by Simmen for all sorts of services.
"There is some one else too, Vincenza," said the landlord, and pointed to Cain, and the child, without any timidity, laughed and gave her hand to the boy also. "His name is Franz," said her father. "Good morning, Franz!" said Vincenza. "You look like a negress beside the boy," laughed Simmen, and placed the girl close beside Cain.
Then Cain came out of the tavern with his father, who had been to say good-by. Simmen and a few others came out, to see them off. "I will go with you as far as the path to the Schwarzsee," said Cain to Fausch, then hurried after the wagon, swung himself up and sat down by Katharine. No pair could be more unlike: he was like a slim, flexible young tree, she like an old, old crumbling branch.
He said all this quietly, sometimes making a gesture to explain his words better. When he paused, Fausch began to speak. Simmen could not understand the first word that he spoke, he brought it out with so much difficulty, and only gradually did his speech become clearer and more connected. "I I want to ask you," he began "keep him here, my boy.
If the landlord's wife looked in, her expression was serious and austere as always, but she saw nothing in Cain to find fault with, and if Simmen himself looked into the room on the right, he would nod to himself and then go out again: the smith's boy was not so bad to have about, he was a real help in the house! Stephen Fausch's horses and wagon started, and the teamsters ran alongside.
Cain now reached the workshop, and said, as he passed, "Good morning!" "Good morning!" answered Simmen, and turned to Fausch: "What is the boy's name?" The smith looked up with a sullen expression and was so slow in answering, that it seemed as if he first had to recollect himself, and then as if the words stuck in his throat: "The boy's name is Franz."
He was barefooted, like the Alpine peasants, indeed he had been used to run barefooted as a child. His well worn trousers were turned up above his ankles, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up nearly to his elbows. He came forward with a light, swaying step, dressed only in shirt and trousers. Everything about him seemed as fresh and free as the morning. "Heavens and earth!" said Simmen.
Simmen, the landlord of the hospice, had been for the past ten years managing the new tavern, which stood opposite to the old shelter, and he had at this time become a man of substance. Stephen Fausch, whose hammer was ringing through the stillness of a cloudless morning, the second since his arrival at the hospice, was just as he had always been.
So the smith must go, certainly he must go. If the boy if Franz alone was there Simmen brought his fist down on the table half angrily, half laughing to himself it wasn't really so wholly impossible, that they should make a match of it, the boy and Vincenza!
The stable boy was accustomed to take hold and help, but Fausch did not seem to notice his well meant offers, and managed the horse alone, every motion he made being peculiarly quick and sure. Simmen and the stable boy exchanged glances, and then laughed. "He knows his job," said the latter. Then he turned to leave.
Word Of The Day