We were much edified to learn that the condition of things demanded a certain etiquette. We were to visit people of inferior station, we were told, and, in return for their hospitality, must take unto them gifts. The idea struck us, of course, as highly commendable, and we declared ourselves ready to do the correct thing. But we were quite aghast to learn that a large sausage should be offered to our hostess,—in fact, that this object would be expected by her; that it actually was lurking behind the pretty invitation to come to see her under her own vine and fig-tree. A sudden silence fell upon our little party at the breakfast-table. It really did seem as if something else might more fitly express our grateful appreciation and kind wishes.
“A horrid sausage! Why can’t we take something nice,—cold tongue, and chocolate-cakes with cream in them, for instance?”
“O, yes, _do_,” says our German friend, with a sardonic expression. “By all means give our Suabian peasants chocolate-cakes; but then what will they have to _eat_?” she demands, grimly.
“Why, chocolate-cakes, to be sure,” says Miss Innocence. With a withering air of half-concealed contempt, the very clever German girl endeavors to present to the mind of the little lady from New York—who lives chiefly on sweets—the reasons why chocolate-cake and the Suabian peasant are, so to speak, incompatible. Among other things, she remarked that he could devour a dozen cakes and be quite unaware that he had eaten anything; that his hard-working day must be sustained by something solid; that the sausage was a support, a solace, a true and tried friend; and, last and strongest argument, he _liked_ sausage better than anything else in the world.
We felt disturbed. There was a great disappointing discrepancy somewhere. Going out to the vineyards, even in anticipation, had a ring of poetry in it, while sausage—is sausage the world over. Nevertheless, to the sausage we succumbed, and a hideous one, as long as your arm and as big, was a carefully guarded member of our party to the vineyard the next day. Fireworks, too, we carried,—why, you will see later; and so, _dona ferentes_, we went out to Untertürkheim by rail, a ride of fifteen minutes from Stuttgart.