After a short
time he put the child down upon a chair, upon the very chair on which he
had thrown his unfinished work, and right on the top of it too.
In the meanwhile the household had come back from the hay-field, and a
woman's clear voice could be heard outside calling to the maids to make
haste: "Quick, get your hoop and pails, it'll soon be sunset, and this
year the fold's[5] rather far off. We must just milk the cows in the
evening. Where's your wooden-platter, girl? Go and get it at once. Now
be as quick as you can, I must just go and have look at the children." A
tall stately woman of five-and-twenty came into the room. She seemed
full of life and energy, her cheeks were rosy with health, work, and the
summer air, her hair and eyes were bright, and her forehead, where her
chip-hat had sheltered it from the sun, was white as snow. Any one could
see the likeness between her and Hawermann at first sight; still there
was a difference, she was well-off, and her whole manner showed that she
would work as hard from temperament as he did from honor and necessity.
To see her brother and to spring to him were one and the same action:
"Charles, brother Charles, my second father," she cried throwing her
arms round his neck; but on looking closer at him, she pushed him away
from her, saying: "What's the matter? You've had some misfortune! What
is it?"
Before he had time to answer his sister's questions, her husband, Joseph
Nuessler, came in, and going up to Hawermann shook hands with him, and
said, taking as long to get out his words as dry weather does to come:
"Good day, brother-in-law; won't you sit down?" "Let him tell us what's
wrong," interrupted his wife impatiently.
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