Vetturi. She spoils
the good-for-nothing fellow. He used to be a servant of ours, but we
found that he had been stealing oats, nobody knows how long. So, of
course, father sent him away."

"The poor creature looks almost starved."

"He's not only poor, but he's a rascal. Father doesn't want to
prosecute him, so the fellow keeps bothering him for his wages."

When they came up, the lad arose quickly. He was of slight build, and
his bluish-black hair fell in disorder over his forehead. The dark,
weary eyes had a frightened look. He took off a torn straw hat, and
bowed several times to Anton. He seemed to be trying to say something.

"Your name is Vetturi, isn't it?" asked Anton. "Come here. Is there
anything you want?"

"I won't take alms like a beggar, I'd rather strike my mouth against a
stone," replied Vetturi in a hoarse voice; and turning to his mother as
though she had contradicted him, said: "Mother, you shan't take
anything."

Then in an entirely different tone he said to Thoma: "May I wish you
joy?"

"No, you may not. Nobody who speaks so disrespectfully of my father
shall wish me joy. Own up to stealing the oats. If you do, I will go to
father and get him to forgive you."

"I won't do it."

"Then abuse me, not my father. My father might, perhaps, have given up
to you, but I won't let him as long as you keep on lying."

"But I can wish you joy, Anton," cried Cushion Kate; "I hope your wife
will be like your mother. She was a good woman; there isn't her like in
the whole country. I was in your house when you came into the world.
You are just eight days older than my oldest daughter would be now.
Now, get your father-in-law to take my Vetturi again, and straighten
everything out. We are poor people. We don't want to quarrel with such
a powerful farmer as he is, but he must not squeeze us until the blood
runs out from under our nails."

"Come along," cried Thoma, taking hold of Anton's arm, "don't let her
talk to you so."

She walked away. Anton did not follow her, but said to Vetturi that he
would employ him as a wood-cutter up in the forest.

"My Vetturi cannot do that," interrupted the mother. "He cannot work up
there from Monday morning to Saturday night, and have no decent food,
and no decent bed."

"Come! come!" urged Thoma from a distance. Anton obeyed, and Vetturi
called after them all kinds of imprecations against Landolin.

With a frown Thoma said to Anton, in a reproachful tone:

"Th