Back of the house door stood the two, Freneli behind Uli. The pastor,
somewhat short, of middle age, but already venerable in appearance and
with shrewd features that could be either very sharp or very pleasant,
raised the light above his head, peered out with head bowed slightly
forward, and cried at last, "Why, Uli, is it you, in such weather? And I
suppose Freneli's behind you," he said, letting the light fall on her.
"But dear me," he cried, "in such weather? And the good mistress let you
go? Come, Mary," he called, "brush off these folks for me, and take this
collar and dry it." Mary came up very willingly with her lamp.
Now the pastor's wife opened the door, her light in her hand, and said,
"Bring them in here, why don't you? It's warmer than your study, and
Freneli and I know each other right well." There stood Freneli now in
the blaze of three lights, still between Uli and the door, not knowing
what expression to assume. Finally she put a good face on a bad game, as
the saying goes, came forward, and saluted the pastor and his wife quite
properly, saying that her aunt bade her wish them good evening, and
Joggeli too. All this Freneli said with the most innocent face in the
world.
"But," said the pastor, "why do you come in such a storm? You might have
lost your lives!"
"We couldn't manage it any other way," said Uli, who began to feel the
man's duty of taking his wife's obstinacy on his own shoulders--a duty
which one must eventually fulfil of necessity, either to avoid appearing
lien-pecked or to hide the weakness of his wife.
Pages:
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348