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What had he been about, that he had not seen this? He, the loving comrade brother, to be slower of sight than the hard, grasping parent! "I will ask mother," he thought. "I can't ask Carlen now! It is too late." He found his mother in the kitchen, busy getting the bountiful supper which was a daily ordinance in the Weitbreck religion.
"And so vas he ven he come home," said Farmer Weitbreck; "he make dat ve all laugh and laugh, like notings ever vas before, never before he open his mouth to speak; he vas like at funeral all times, night and day. But now he seem full of joy. It is de most strange ting as I haf seen in my life." "I do not think so, father," said John. "I do not wonder he was glad to be rid of his burden."
Farmer Weitbreck was carried out of himself with pleasure at all this, and holding Wilhelm's hand fast in his, shaking it heartily, and clapping him on the shoulder, he exclaimed in fatherly familiarity: "Dis is goot, mein son! dis is goot. Now are you von of us." And he glanced meaningly at John, who smiled back in secret intelligence.
Vat bring dem here dis time in day," exclaimed Farmer Weitbreck. "If dey ask for Wilhelm dey must all know!" "Yes," replied John; "that makes no difference. Everybody will have to know." And he ran swiftly down to meet the strangely arrived neighbors. His first glance at their faces showed him that they had come on no common errand.
And John looked at him with a new interest and liking. If this were the true Wilhelm, he might welcome him indeed as a brother. Carlen alone looked grave, anxious, unhappy. She could not laugh. Tale after tale, jest after jest, fell from Wilhelm's lips. Such a story-teller never before sat at the Weitbreck board. The old kitchen never echoed with such laughter.
He had no possessions except the leather pack he had brought on his back. This lay on the floor unlocked; and when the good Frau Weitbreck, persuading herself that she was actuated solely by a righteous, motherly interest in the young man, opened it, she found nothing whatever there, except a few garments of the commonest description, no book, no paper, no name on any article.
"No," said Mrs. Dietman, tearfully; but her husband exclaimed, in a vindictive tone: "I see not why it is to be covered in secret. He is murderer. It is to be sent vord to Mayence he vas found." "Yes, they ought to know there," said John, slowly; "but there is no need for it to be known here. He has injured no one here." "No," exclaimed Farmer Weitbreck. "He haf harm nobody here; he vas goot.
John Weitbreck had realized his dream of going West, a free man at last, and by no means a poor one; he looked out over scores of broad fields of his own, one of the most fertile of the Oregon valleys.
As they sat at supper, Farmer Weitbreck and his wife plied Wilhelm with questions about their old friends in Mayence. He was evidently familiar with all the localities and names which they mentioned. His replies, however, were given as far as possible in monosyllables, and he spoke no word voluntarily.
It is worse than fear. I would like to see his face come alive with a fear. He gives me cold shivers like a grave underfoot. I shall be glad when he is gone." Farmer Weitbreck laughed. He and his son were likely to be again at odds on the subject of a laborer. "But he vill not go. I haf said to him to stay till Christmas, maybe always." John's surprise was unbounded. "To stay!
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