o see what was becoming of Walpurga, would run
along beside the road. When they dashed across the wooden bridges that
overhung the roaring brook, she would tremble with fear, and would not
feel reassured until they had gained the smooth road on the other side.
She looked up at the mountains, the houses and the Alpine huts; she
knew the names of those who dwelt in every one of them. But they soon
reached a region to which she was a stranger.

At the next station where they stopped to change horses, the Sunday
idlers were astonished to see a peasant woman descend from so elegant a
carriage. A woman nursing her child was sitting under a linden tree
near by. Prompted by curiosity, she raised herself in her seat, and the
child turning its head at the same time, mother and child were staring
at Walpurga, who nodded to them kindly, while her eyes filled with
tears and her throat seemed to close. The postilion blew his horn, the
horses started off at a gallop, and Walpurga again felt as if flying
through the air.

"This is fast traveling, Walpurga, isn't it?" exclaimed Baum. When she
now looked at him, she, too, was startled by his wonderful resemblance
to Thomas.

"Yes, indeed!" said she. The doctor said but little, for he was too
deeply moved by sympathy for her. Nor did he, as usual, assert his
pride of position. This woman was so much more than a mere tool that
one might well treat her with kindness and consideration. She had found
it so hard to leave her home. He was, for some time, considering what
he should say to her, and, at last, inquired:

"Do you like your doctor?"

"Yes, indeed I do! He's very odd. He scolds and abuses everybody; but
for all that, he does good wherever he can, be it day or night; rich
and poor are all the same to him. Oh, he's a real good man!"

Doctor Sixtus smiled and asked her:

"I didn't get to see his wife. Do you know her?"

"Of course I do. It's Hedwig, the apothecary's daughter. Her family are
very nice folks, and she's a sweet, charming creature; plain in her
ways and quite a home body. They have fine children, too--five or six
of them, I believe--and so she has her hands full. He might have taken
you to his house, for it's ever so neat and tidy."

He was delighted with Walpurga's good report of his friend. And now
that he had succeeded in changing the train of her thoughts, he
concluded that he had done enough and could leave her to shift for
herself.

She saw everything as i