But that will come when you hear the music."
"I fancy I hear it already," replied Barefoot. "Yes, listen, there it
is!"
And, in truth, a large wagon decorated with green boughs was just
driving through the village. Seated in the wagon were all the musicians;
in the midst of them stood Crappy Zachy blowing his trumpet as if he
were trying to wake the dead.
And now there was no more staying in the village; every one was
hastening to be up and away. Light, Bernese carriages, with one and two
horses, some from the village itself and some from the neighboring
villages, were chasing each other as if they were racing. Rose mounted
to her brother's side on the front seat of their chaise, and Barefoot
climbed up into the basket-seat behind. So long as they were passing
through the village, she kept her eyes looking down--she felt so
ashamed. Only when she passed the house that had been her parents' did
she venture to look up; Black Marianne waved her hand from the window,
the red cock crowed on the wood-pile, and the old tree seemed to nod and
wish her good luck.
Now they drove through the valley where Manz was breaking stones, and
now over the Holderwasen where an old woman was keeping the geese.
Barefoot gave her a friendly nod.
"Good heavens!" she thought. "How does it happen that I sit here so
proudly driving along in festive attire? It is a good hour's ride to
Endringen, and yet it seems as if we had only just started.
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