It was made in the Langental fashion, she said. "But whatever
fashion it is, it's becoming to you," she continued.
The bells began to peal and Freneli's heart to beat loudly; her eyes
grew fairly dim with dizziness. The hostess brought her aromatic salts,
rubbed her temples with something, and said, "You mustn't take it so
hard, girlie, we all have to go through with it. But go now in God's
name; the pastor doesn't wait long on a Friday; he's a great one for
hurrying."
Uli took his Freneli by the hand and walked with her toward the church;
solemnly the solemn peals echoed in their hearts; for the sexton rang
the bells with all his skill, so that the clappers struck on both edges,
and not as if they were lame, now on one edge, now on the other. As they
came to the churchyard, the grave-digger was just busy at a grave, and
it was quiet about him; no sheep, no goat came and desecrated man's last
resting-place; for in this village the churchyard was no pasture for
unclerical animals.
Suddenly an irresistible melancholy came over Freneli. The venerable
mound, the digging of the new grave, woke gloomly thoughts. "That's no
good omen," she whispered; "they are digging a grave for one of us."
Before the church stood a baptismal party, one godmother holding a child
on her arm. "That means a child-bed for one of us," whispered Uli, to
comfort Freneli.
"Yes, that I'm to die in one," she answered; "that I must leave my
happiness for the cold grave.
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