er is a fine, honest
fellow, and in the war he showed himself a brave man; he will be the
husband to----"

The farmer's wife interrupted this speech, lest something unpleasant
about Thoma might be added, and said, "The betrothal is not to be here
at home, it will take place in the city to-day, at the Sword Inn. I am
to go too," she concluded, pleased that so great an honor should be
done her. She walked more quickly than usual to the house, awakened the
maids, and then mounted the stairs to the large guest chamber. There
stood two high bedsteads, but they held bed-clothing enough for six,
for from this house neither feathers nor linen were ever sold. It was
easy enough to see that when the mistress opened the double doors of
the great, gayly-painted wardrobe. She feasted her eyes on the masses
of linen heaped up there; of which that in the left side of the
wardrobe, tied with blue ribbon, was the outfit long ago prepared for
Thoma. The mother laid her hand on it as if in blessing, and her lips
moved.

But now she heard footsteps in the living-room, and went down stairs
again.

CHAPTER III.

There, where the bright morning light streamed through many windows,
and the ever-heated porcelain stove spread a pleasant warmth, the
farmer was walking up and down. He was a broad, stately man; his thick
hair was cut short, and the stubble stood upright, which gave his
immense head a certain bull-dog look. From his smoothly-shaven face
looked forth self-esteem, obstinacy, and contempt of the world. He was
still in his shirt sleeves, but otherwise arrayed in holiday attire;
the single-breasted, collarless, velvet coat alone hung on the nail; he
wore high boots, whose tops fell down in folds, showing the white
stockings below the knee-breeches; and also a gay silk vest, buttoned
close to his throat.

As his wife entered he nodded silently. Following her came their son
Peter, a discontented-looking, full-faced young fellow, and then the
servant-men and maids. After grace was said, they sat down to
breakfast. There was no conversation; no one even spoke of the chair
that remained vacant, that of Thoma. Not until the after-grace had been
said, did the peasant speak to Tobias, telling him to take the fat oxen
to the fair.

He then sat down in the great arm-chair, not far from the stove, and
looked toward the door. Thoma may be permitted to make an exception
to-day. Usually she takes great p