But now Damie suddenly emancipated himself; one fine Sunday he exhibited
to his sister some money he had received as an earnest from
Scheckennarre, of Hirlingen, to whom he had hired himself out as a
farmhand.
"If you had spoken to me about it first," said Barefoot, "I could have
told you of a better place. I would have given you a letter to Farmer
Landfried's wife in Allgau; and there you would have been treated like a
son of the family."
"Oh, don't talk to me about her!" said Damie crossly. "She has owed me a
pair of leather breeches she promised me for nearly thirteen years.
Don't you remember?--when we were little, and thought we had only to
knock, and mother and father would open the door. Don't talk to me of
Dame Landfried! Who knows whether she ever thinks of us, or indeed if
she is still alive?"
"Yes, she's alive--she's related to the family which I serve, and they
often speak of her. And all her children are married, except one son,
who is to have the farm."
"Now you want to make me feel dissatisfied with my new place," said
Damie complainingly, "and you go and tell me that I might have had a
better one. Is that right?" And his voice faltered.
"Oh, don't be so soft-hearted all the time!" said Barefoot. "Is what I
said going to take away any of your good fortune? You are always acting
as if the geese were biting you. And now I will only tell you one thing,
and that is, that you should hold fast to what you have, and remain
where you are.
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