urn. She was a married woman and oughtn't to meet a
strange man at night, even though it was by the chapel.

Something ran across the path. Was it a cat, a martin or a weasel?

"Return," said an inner voice, but she went on, nevertheless. She
reached the arbor. Baum stepped forth from behind a vine-clad column.
He held out both his hands to her and she offered him her own. He tried
to draw her closer to him but she stood firm.

"What have you to tell me?" asked Walpurga.

"Nothing but what's good. You see, we lesser folks must help each
other, and you're so much to me that I could do anything for you."

"If you can do me a good service, I shall be grateful as long as I
live--I and my husband and my child. Tell me quick; I'm in a hurry."

"Then we can leave it for some other time."

"No, tell me now. What do you mean?"

"I really meant nothing at all, but you see we must always wait on
others, and so I thought that we might have a quarter of an hour to
ourselves. I only wanted to tell you that you are the light of my life,
my happiness. When I look at you, and listen to you, I'd like to do--I
don't know what, and I can't tell."

"It isn't necessary, either; and let me tell you, this is very wicked
of you."

"Is it wicked that I love you to distraction?"

"Yes, and doubly wicked that you fooled me here and made me believe
that you had something good to tell me."

"And so I have," said Baum, quickly; "forgive me for what I've done; if
you do, I'll tell you the rest."

"Yes, I'll forgive you, but make haste."

"Well," said Baum with great composure, "it's simply this. He who
stands at the manger and doesn't eat, is a fool. Do you understand me?"

"Of course; it doesn't take much to know that."

"Yes, but you don't take my meaning. A court like this is a full
manger, and you'll be a great fool if you go away without having taken
enough to satisfy yourself and your child for life."

"I'd like to know how that can be done. You've got to eat every day,
and can't stuff yourself with enough to last for a lifetime."

"You're clever, but you might be more so. Just listen! What I mean is
this. A good position, or a profitable situation, should give one a
chance to make himself comfortable for life. The tenant of the
dairy-farm will have to leave next spring or, at the latest, in the
fall, and I think you ought to manage it with the queen and the rest of
them, so that your husband should get the position, and the