CHAPTER VII.
A THUNDER CLAP.
Blasi, the lounger, stood in his doorway in the clear sunshine of thislovely summer morning, both hands plunged deep into his pockets as was hiswont, and looked about him as if to see whether everything in the outerworld was the same as yesterday.
Judith came out to the well, carrying her water-jug on her head.
"Look out, Blasi, you are losing something," she cried. Blasi looked onthe ground, turned about, and searched behind and before.
"I don't see anything," he said, and stuffed his hands deeper into hispockets.
"It's always so with me," said Judith, "when I've lost anything, I can'tsee it."
"Oh ho, you're making a fool of me again!"
"That's all the thanks I get for telling you that you are losingsomething, and I was just going to make you a present that is worth morethan five francs to a fellow like you."
"What is it? Show it to me," said Blasi, with more animation.
"First I will tell you something, and then you shall have it," repliedJudith. "Look here, Blasi, my sainted father used to say, "If you keepyour hands out of your pockets they will get full, but if you keep themin, your pockets will be empty." Now, both your hands are in yourpockets, so all that ought to go in is running to waste. Isn't that so?"
"Well, suppose it is," said Blasi, angrily. "Now give me what you promisedme."
"I gave it to you this very minute. I said you'd better take your handsout of your pockets, and then your earnings would run in. That's goodadvice and worth more than five francs.
"What stuff! No one ever knows how to take you," grumbled Blasi.
"It wouldn't help you to take me, if you did not take your hands out too,"said Judith, "but never mind, I have really something good for you," andJudith motioned to him to come nearer. "Would you like to have a nicewell-washed shirt for Sunday? I will do one up for you if you will tell mesomething."
That was an offer worth listening to. Sunday was a wretched day for Blasi,for when he had turned his two shirts and worn them both on both sides, hehad never a clean one for Sunday. He had no one to wash for him. Hismother was dead, and his father had enough else to spend for, without thewashing for a grown-up son. Blasi's money went for other things thanwashing, and he was not fond of doing it for himself.
The proposition was therefore very apropos. "Come a little nearer to thewell; no one knows who may be behind those trees. Now listen; Can you tellme what is going wrong with Dietrich? He never whistles now, he neverlaughs, and his mother looks so sad, and she rarely speaks even to answerwhen spoken to. Something has happened to Dietrich."
"Yes, and keeps on happening; all sorts of things, too. But Jost can tellyou more than I can. They sit together in the Rehbock half the night andmore, too; long after everybody else has gone, there they sit in thelittle back room. At first they do just as other people do, they drink alittle and then a little more, and Dietrich pays. But that's nothing towhat it costs him afterwards. They do something with paper, he and Jost.Sometimes it is a lottery and then again something that they callspeculating. I don't understand anything about it. Somebody comes overfrom Fohrensee and explains it to them. He does not belong there; but Iguess you have seen him; he has fiery red hair, and red beard and redface. He has business in Fohrensee once a week, and lives the rest of thetime down in the city; and he arranges everything down there, and thenbrings the account of gains and losses up to them; but it's a good dealmore loss than gain. Dietrich puts in more money every time. Jost hasnothing to put in but promises. He tells Dietrich all the time thatpresently the winnings will begin to flow in, and says that at first afellow must expect to lose, so as to win all the more in the end, and thatbye-and-bye it will all come back; with interest, of course. Thered-haired man says yes to it all. Whenever I want to put something in,and ask Dietrich to lend me a little to try with, Jost acts as if he werethe lord and master of the whole concern, and 'donkey' is the mildest namehe calls me. I am just waiting though, till I can trip him up, and I'lldo it with a vengeance too, so that he won't forget it all his life long."
"Now that is a good idea," said Judith. "You'd better tell him then, thatyou do it to pay your debts, and that it would be well for him to followyour example. Now you have told me enough. Bring me your shirt onSaturday, and I'll wash it for you."
Judith lifted her water-jug and was turning away, but Blasi detained her.
"Just wait one moment, I want to ask you a question. Do you think she willhave him?"
The question seemed to interest Judith, for she stood stock still.
"Who? whom? what do you mean?"
"I mean Veronica and Jost. Do you think she will take him?" As Blasispoke he came slowly nearer to Judith. "He has been saying some thingslately, that made me think so."
"If you know anything more stupid than that, I should like to hear it,"cried Judith very angry indeed; but she did not move away, for she wantedto hear all that Blasi had to say.
"I know what you mean," he went on, "but I am not so very stupid as youthink. It certainly means something, when she is so changed. Jost saysthat she knows all that Dietrich has been about, and she is hot with angeragainst him because he has not told her about it himself. Jost says thatif he only mentions Dietrich's name before her she looks like a wild-catin a moment, and he says too that he has noticed for some time, that shehas no objection to letting Dietrich see that she can get along very wellwithout his help, and you know that she is capable of anything when she'sangry."
"Well, this was the one drop wanting!" said Judith, and shouldering herjug she went off, snorting with anger, in such a rage that Blasi stoodlooking after her in stupid amazement, and muttered,
"I wonder if she wants to get him, too!"
Judith walked along, talking aloud to herself,
"Yes, she is! she is! she is capable of anything when she is angry!"
Now Judith had looked upon her neighbor's boy from his childhood up, as ifhe belonged to her. He was her prime, favorite and she meant to do well byhim. She liked Veronica because she was such a steady girl at her needle,and because she would have nothing to say to any one but Dietrich. Thisvery reserve however, was rather distasteful to Judith as regardedherself, but she liked it towards others. She had planned it all out thatDietrich should marry Veronica soon after the confirmation, that theyshould set up a pretty little establishment, and be her beloved neighbors.She meant to be their intimate friend and helper, to go freely in and outof their house, and to stand god-mother now and then. She would leave herproperty to the little ones. Now all this fine air-castle was overthrownand all her plans spoiled. Judith bounced violently into the kitchen andset her jug down with such a bang that the water spurted up into the air.
"And no one can get a word out of her, either; it is exactly as if all theoil had been burned out." This last remark referred to Gertrude, who hadgreatly altered during the last few months. She had no longer the cheerfulexpression that she had always been noted for. She had grown very quietand silent. She even avoided her old and well-tried friend Judith, and ifthe latter showed a disposition to talk about her household matters or herchildren's future, Gertrude would give her to understand that she had notime to stop to talk.
Gertrude knew where Dietrich spent his evenings. She had expostulated withhim about it more than once. He had answered that he must keep on therefor awhile, till a certain undertaking which he had started with Jost wasfairly under way. He assured her that this affair was certain to turn outall right, and that she herself would be surprised and satisfied at theresult. He knew from some one who understood it, that it could not fail.He had to draw large sums several times for himself and also for Jost, buthe was sanguine that in a short time it would all be paid back, withinterest. Gertrude did not pretend to understand the business, but she sawthat Dietrich believed it to be safe and profitable, and she knew that herson would not deceive her. Still she was haunted daily by a growinguneasiness, which was not diminished when she perceived tha
t Veronica wasgradually drawing away from her.
This state of things had all come about since that morning when thegirl's beseeching words had fallen unheeded on the mother's ears; or atleast Veronica believed them to have been unheeded, since they had workedno change in Dietrich's behavior.
Why it was that every day as evening came on, she felt so miserablyanxious, Gertrude herself could scarcely understand. Poor Gertrude!
One night after she had gone to her room she heard her son leave the housewith hasty steps. It had become a regular thing now. She had often said toherself, "Ah! how much longer will this go on?" but she tried hard tobelieve that it would soon come to an end, and her son would resume hisformer orderly and happy mode of life. But this evening she was soanxious that she could not stay in her bedroom. She went down into thegarden.
The moon peeped out from between the flying clouds, and shone peacefullydown upon the trees and the neat flower-beds. Gertrude seated herself upona small bench under the apple tree, and gazed about the garden, allilluminated by the moonbeams. She had planted it all and cared for it withher own hands. She had done this as she did everything, carefully and withgreat painstaking, and it was all for her son's sake. His should be thepleasure and the profit of all. Why could he not be happy in it now? Whywas she so worried about him? Dietrich was walking in steep and dangerouspaths; that she was sure of, but he knew the straight road and would nothis steps turn back to it again? Her thoughts went back to the days whenher little Dieterli loved good and orderly conduct; it could not be thathe had lost his love for it, that he did not still feel that in the rightconduct of life lies inward and outward blessing. She recalled the eveningof the day when her husband was borne from the house to his burial. Shehad taken the children by the hand and, stupefied with pain, was about toput them to bed, but Dieterli objected, saying,
"No, mother, no; it is not good to go to bed before you say your prayers."
Did her boy ever pray now? "Oh, Dieterli, my son, you are wandering away,but you know the way home," she said to herself, and she folded her handsin prayer, for her habit was to lay all her troubles before God, herSupporter and Comforter.
At this moment, she heard through the stillness loud shouts and cries,first at a distance, then nearer and nearer, until they grew into a wildtumult. Then many of the voices seemed to scatter in different directionswhile some sounded as if approaching the garden. A vague fear seizedGertrude. Three fellows shouting and calling, passed on the other side ofthe hedge; she recognized one of the voices.
"Jost," she cried feebly, "Jost, what is it? where is Dietrich?"
There was no answer; Jost did not or would not, hear. He ran faster thanbefore, and the second fellow ran too. The last one paused a little; itwas Blasi. He said hastily:
"He isn't coming yet awhile. You can go to bed;" and was making off.
"Oh do tell me what has happened," said Gertrude, white with terror."Don't leave me so, but tell me, Blasi, why Dietrich hasn't come home withthe rest of you?"
Blasi had too much respect for Dietrich's mother to run away from her whenshe put a direct question to him, although he would fain have escaped. Hecame close to the hedge, and replied,
"There has been a row at the Rehbock. Two men were killed. Some one stolethe cattle dealer's money bag--"
"Is Dietrich killed? Speak out!" broke in Gertrude, trembling.
"No; he struck about him bravely, till one of the fellows got enough ofit, and lay dead on the ground; and then he made off."
With this Blasi ran on.
Gertrude mounted wearily to her room as if her last day was come. She satdown upon her bed, and when the morning light filled the room, still shesat there listening in trembling anxiety, as she had listened through allthe long night; in vain. Dietrich had not come home in the night; he didnot come in the morning.
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