gain."

The first thing young Thomas did was to take the chamois beard and the
black cock plume out of his pocket and stick them in his hat again.
Then he put on his hat in a defiant manner, and his whole bearing
seemed to say: I'd like to see who'd dare touch them.

Just as they were going away, Baum came in from the street. He seemed
anxious to avoid them, but Zenza went up to him and thanked him again
for the handsome present he had given her when Walpurga had been sent
for. She looked at him strangely and Baum, with a side glance, noticed
that Thomas's eyes were fixed upon him. He felt a shudder passing like
a flash of lightning, from his heart to his head. It actually made his
hair stand on end, and obliged him to raise his hat and adjust it
differently; but he took a nail-file from his pocket and began trimming
his nails, and then said: "You've thanked me already; once is enough."

"Mother! if Jangerl wasn't in America, I'd have sworn that was he."

"You're crazy," replied Zenza.

They went into the town together. Thomas always walking briskly in
front. It seemed as if it would not worry him much, were he to lose his
mother.

They repaired to an inn, where, without taking time to sit down, he
drank off a schoppen of wine. Then, telling his mother to wait, he went
off to purchase the rifle.

Meanwhile, Walpurga was sitting by the window and imagining how the
folks at home would be talking of her great power, and how, at the
Chamois, they would have so much to say about her, and that the
innkeeper's wife, who had always looked down upon her, would almost
burst with envy.

Walpurga laughed and was pleased to think that the envious and proud
would be angry at her good fortune. This, indeed, seemed her greatest
delight, and at all events, was the thought on which she dwelt longest.
Another reason may have been that the joy of the virtuous is more
quickly exhausted than the angry and evil speeches of the wicked, which
keep fermenting and sending bubbles to the surface long after they have
been uttered. Walpurga remained sitting by the window, her lips
silently moving, as if she were repeating to herself the words of those
who envied and were angry at her, until, at last, Countess Irma
addressed her:

"I can see how happy you are. Yes, Walpurga, if we could only do good
to some fellow-creature every moment, we would be the happiest beings
under the sun. Don't you see, Walpurga, the real divine grace of a
prin