Do you know, Pastor, I am beginning to like you! Do you wish to remain here and take the old pastor's place?
You are very kind, indeed. With such a position I should be quite content, and to complete my happiness----but, by-the-bye, the object of my visit was, really, the bridal-sermon. I am afraid our good old pastor will not be able now----
[_Simultaneously_.] Will not be equal to the exertion, you mean; ah--I feared as much.
Therefore, if you will allow me--unless you desired some one else----
Pastor, if we had not already heard you in the pulpit I would deny your request, point blank, as you are practically a stranger to us. But your ways and sentiments please me, and therefore--what say you, wife? [_She nods_.]--And you, George?
Oh, I don't know; but unless I am very much mistaken, there is already a great deal of sympathy between us, eh, Pastor?
Now I must confess that is rather meaningless, at least so far as I am concerned; for my sympathy extends towards the whole world.
[_Jestingly_.] Then will you kindly leave us for awhile? I desire to inquire into your past record.
[_Shakes his finger laughingly_.] With pleasure, if you promise not to be too severe on me. [_Exit_.]
Now, then, with your kind permission, I will take a few notes----
This young gentleman, your nephew, is especially close to the family, is he not?
I will tell you. Pastor. It was in the year '67, when we had here in East Prussia, a terrible drought--a year of distress and--do you remember anything about it?
Very little, as I was then still quite young.
Ah, it was terrible! Potatoes and fodder rotted before ripening. Of wheat and rye hardly a trace. We farmers, I tell you--! Then it was, when my brother-in-law, the husband of my sainted sister, whose estates were in the neighboring township yonder, realized one day his financial ruin and with all his aristocratic pride--you understand--he saw no other way--he resorted to the pistol--he committed suicide.
Pardon the interruption; but I have heard your daughter, Miss Marie, called "the calamity child" by some of the villagers. Has that any connection with this year of distress?
And you didn't know that, Pastor--how she came into our house? Well, during that same terrible winter, we were returning one night, my husband and myself, from the town, where we had at our own expense erected a soup-kitchen--when suddenly, at the corner of the woods yonder, where the road makes a sharp turn, our horses shied--and there, in the middle of the road, we saw lying, a woman, with a child pressed closely to her bosom. She refused to stir and begged us to put her out of her misery. Of course, we took her into the sleigh at once--ah, she was in an awful condition----