Marianne might begin to speak, she
always ended by relapsing into gloomy complaint and mourning; and she
who professed to like to be alone and to think of nothing and to love
nothing, only lived to think about her son and to love him. Consequently
Amrei made up her mind to release herself from this uncanny position of
being alone with Black Marianne; she demanded that Damie should be taken
into the house. At first Marianne opposed it vehemently, but when Amrei
threatened to leave the house herself, and then coaxed her in such a
childlike way and tried so hard to do whatever would best please her,
the old woman at last consented.

Damie, who had learned from Crappy Zachy to knit wool, now sat beneath
the parental roof again; and at night, when the brother and sister were
asleep in the garret, each one of them would wake the other when they
heard Black Marianne down stairs, running to and fro and muttering to
herself. But Damie's transmigration to Black Marianne's was the cause of
new trouble. Damie was exceedingly discontented at having been compelled
to learn a miserable trade that was fit only for a cripple. He wanted to
be a mason, and although Amrei was very much opposed to it, for she
predicted that he would not keep at it, Black Marianne supported him in
it. She would have liked to make all the young lads masons, and then to
have sent them out on their travels that they might bring back news of
her John.

Black Marianne seldom went to church, but she always liked to have
anybody else borrow her hymn-book and take it to church--it seemed to
give her a kind of pleasure to have it there. She was especially pleased
when any strange workman, who happened to be employed in the village,
borrowed the hymn-book which John had left behind him for that purpose;
for it seemed to her as if John himself were praying in his native
church, when the words were spoken and sung out of his book. And now
Damie was obliged to go to church twice every Sunday with John's
hymn-book.

While Marianne did not go to church herself, she was always to be seen
at every solemn ceremony in the village or in any of the surrounding
villages. There was never a funeral which Marianne did not attend as one
of the mourners; and at the funeral sermon, and the blessing spoken over
the grave, even of a little child, she always wept so violently that one
would have thought she was the nearest relative. On the way home,
however, she was always especially c