good, wholesome water; and if you would like to water your
horses, it is especially good for them--it won't give them cramps."

"My horses are warm and must not drink now. Do you come from
Haldenbrunn, my girl?"

"Yes indeed."

"And what is your name?"

"Amrei."

"And to whom do you belong?"

[Illustration: AMREI BRISKLY BROUGHT HER PITCHER FILLED WITH WATER]

"To nobody now--my father was Josenhans."

"What! Josenhans, who served at Farmer Rodel's?"

"Yes."

"I knew him well. It was too bad that he died so soon. Wait, child--I'll
give you something." He drew a large leather bag out of his pocket,
groped about in it for a long time, and said at last: "There, take
this."

"No, thank you--I don't accept presents--I'll take nothing."

"Take it--you can accept it from me all right. Is Farmer Rodel your
guardian?"

"Yes."

"He might have done something better than make a goose-girl of you.
Well, God keep you."

Away rolled the wagon, and Amrei found herself alone with a coin in her
hand.

"'You can accept it from me all right.'--Who was he that he could say
that? And why didn't he make himself known? Why, it's a groschen, and
there's a bird on it. Well, it won't make him poor, nor me rich."

The rest of that day Amrei did not offer her pitcher to any one else;
she was afraid of having something given to her again. When she got home
in the evening, Black Marianne told her that Farmer Rodel had sent for
her, and that she was to go over to him directly.

Amrei hastened to his house, and as she entered, Farmer Rodel called out
to her:

"What have you been saying to Farmer Landfried?"

"I don't know any Farmer Landfried."

"He was with you at the Holderwasen today, and gave you something."

"I did not know who he was--and here's his money still."

"I've nothing to do with that. Now, say frankly and honestly, you
tiresome child, did I persuade you to be a goose-keeper? If you don't
give it up this very day, I'm no guardian of yours. I won't have such
things said of me!"

"I'll let everybody know that it was not your fault--but give it up is
something I can't do. I must stick to it, at any rate for the rest of
the summer--I must finish what I have begun."

"You're a crabbed creature," said the farmer; and he walked out of the
room. But his wife, who was lying ill in bed, called out:

"You're quite right--stay just as you are. I prophesy that it will go
well with you. A hundred years from now they