The Silent Mill Part 6

"Ye tiny flowrets that she gave.

Come rest with me in my lonely grave."

Trude's eyes grow moist, but still she hopes that the hunter may go, and the miller-maid think better of it; it cannot, it must not be otherwise. The miller and the brook begin their sad duologue--the mill-brook tries to console him, but for the miller there remains but one comfort, _one_ rest:

"Ah! brooklet, little brooklet, thou wouldst comfort my pain, Ah! brooklet, canst thou make my lost love return again?"

Trude nods hastily. "What has the silly brooklet to do with it? What does it know of love or pain?"

And then--there comes the mysterious lullaby sung by the waters. Surely the young miller must have fallen asleep on the brink of the rivulet--a kiss will waken him and when he opens his eyes the miller-maid will be bending over him and saying. "Forgive me, I love you as much as ever."

But nay--what is the meaning of those words about the small, blue crystal chamber? Why must he sleep till the ocean shall have drunk up the brook? And if the cruel maiden is to throw her kerchief into the brook that his eyes may be covered, why, then the sleeper cannot be lying on the water's brink, then he must be lying deep down--Trude covers her face with her hands and bursts into loud, convulsive sobs, and when Johannes still persists in reading to the end, she cries out "Stop, stop!"

"Trude, whatever is the matter?"

She beckons him to leave her alone; her weeping becomes more and more violent; her whole body sways, it seeks a support, it bends backwards.

Johannes gives a terrified scream and springs forward, catching her in his arms. "For heaven's sake, Trude!" he gasps, breathing heavily.

Beads of cold perspiration stand on his brow--but she bows her little head on his breast, flings her arms round his neck and cries her heart out.--

Next day Trude says: "I behaved very childishly yesterday, Hans, and I believe I only just missed falling down."

"You were already sinking," he says, and a shudder pa.s.ses through him at thought of that terrible moment. A sentimental smile crosses her face. "Then there would have been an end once and for all," she observes with a deep sigh, but forthwith laughs at herself for her silliness.

The days pa.s.s by. Johannes has fulfilled Trude's keenest expectations as a play-fellow. The two have become inseparable; and Martin, the third of the party, can do nothing but look on silently and with a good-natured grumble say "Yea" and "Amen" to all their pranks.

It is a pleasure to see them whizzing past, racing each other across the mill-yard as if they had wings to their feet. Trude flies along so that her feet hardly touch the ground, but in spite of that Johannes is the quicker of the two. Even if it takes time, she gets caught in the end. As soon as she finds that she cannot escape she cowers like a little frightened chicken; then when his arms encircle her triumphantly, her lithe body trembles as if his touch shook its very foundations.

David, the old servant, very attentively watches these doings from a dormer window in the attic, which he makes his customary stand; there he begins scratching his head and mumbling all sorts of unintelligible things to himself.

Trude notices him one day and laughingly points him out to Johannes.

"We must play some trick on that old sneak," she whispers to him.

Johannes tells her the amusing tale of how, years ago, he discovered the corner where the old fellow was in the habit of stowing away the flour he pilfered. "Perhaps we could do the same thing again?" he laughs.

"Well, we must hunt," says Trude. No sooner said than done. The following Sunday when the mill stands still and no servants or apprentices are about, Johannes takes the bunch of keys and beckons to Trude to follow him.

"Where are you off to?" asks Martin, looking up from the book he is reading.

"One of the hens lays its eggs astray," said Trude quickly. "We want to hunt for them." And she does not even blush. They ransack the stables and barns, the storehouses and haystacks and especially the mill,--they tear upstairs and downstairs, clamber up steep ladders and rummage in the rubbish of the lumber attics.

About two hours have gone by in fruitless search, when Trude, who has never lost courage, announces that in the furthest corner of the store-house she has found what she was seeking. Beneath some rotten shafts and worn-out cog-wheels, covered by the debris of the last ten years, stand a few large bushel-sacks, filled with flour and barley; besides which there are all sorts of useful trifles, such as hammers, pincers, brushes and table-knives. Loudly rejoicing, her eyes glistening, her face all dirty, her hair full of cobwebs, she emerges from the cavity, and after Johannes has convinced himself that she has seen aright, they hold council of war. Shall Martin be drawn into the secret? No, he would be vexed and perhaps spoil their fun. Johannes. .h.i.ts upon the right thing to do. He pours the contents of the sacks into their proper receptacles and then fills them with sand and gravel, but on the top puts a layer of lamp-black, such as the coachman uses for blacking his leather trappings. After having, on the way, quickly arranged everything as before, he considers his work completed. Both depart from the mill filled with intense delight, wash their hands and faces at the pump, help each other to get their clothes clean and do their best to keep a straight face on entering the room. But Martin at once notices the treacherous twitching of their mouths; he threatens them smilingly with his finger, though he asks no further questions....

Two--three days go by during which they are consumed with impatience;--then one morning when Trude is in the garden Johannes comes rushing down, breathless and red in the face with suppressed laughter. She forthwith throws down her hoe and follows him then and there to the yard. In front of the pump stands old David, helpless and enraged, half white and half as black as a sweep. His face and hands are coal black and his clothes are full of huge tar stains. From all the windows of the mill the laughing faces of the mill-hands peep out; and Martin walks excitedly to and fro in front of the house.

The scene is surpa.s.singly comic. Johannes and Trude feel fit to die of laughing. David, who very rightly suspects where he must look for his foes, casts a vicious look at the two and makes a fresh attempt to clean himself. But the tell-tale black sticks to everything as if grown fast upon it. At last Martin takes pity on the poor devil, lets him come inside the common-room and orders Trude, who is laughing very tears, to find him an old suit of clothes.

At dinner-time the two tell him about their successful prank. He shakes his head disapprovingly and thinks it would have been better to have told him of their find. Then he mutters something about "28 years of service" and "babyish tricks," and gets up from the table.

Trude and Johannes exchange meaning looks which say "spoil-sport!" The affair affords them ground for amus.e.m.e.nt for three whole days.

On the following Sunday Martin makes an excursion across country to get some old debts cashed. He will not be likely to return before evening.

The mill-hands have gone to the inn. The mill stands empty.

"Now I shall send the maids off too," says Trude to Johannes; "then we shall be absolutely alone in the place and can undertake something."

"But what?"

"That remains to be seen," she laughs and goes out into the kitchen.

After half an hour she returns and says: "There, now they have gone, now we can begin." Then they sit down opposite each other and deliberate.

"We shall never again manage to have such a lark as last Sunday," sighs Trude, and then after a while: "I say, Johannes!"

"What?"

"You really are a great boon to me!"

"In what way?"

"Since you came I have been three times as happy. You see--he is ever so kind and you know--I am fond of him, very fond, but--he is always so serious, so condescending, as if I were a silly, senseless child--and don't you think I am hardworking and take care of his household as well as any one older? Surely it's not my fault that I was born so full of fun and it isn't, after all, a crime to be like that--but under his eyes, when he looks at one so solemnly and reproachfully, why it spoils all one's pleasure in any nonsense.... And when one has to sit there quite still, it's sometimes so awfully full and so ..."

She stops and considers. She would like to pour out her grievances to him, but hardly knows what they are?

"With you it is quite different," she continues, "you are a dear, good fellow, and never say 'no' to anything. With you one can do as one likes!--And besides, you haven't got his irritating smile which he puts on when I tell him anything, as much as to say: 'I don't mind listening to you, but of course you are only talking rubbish.' Then the words seem to stick in my throat--whereas with you ... well, one can tell you anything that comes into one's head."

She pensively rests her head on her two hands and moves her elbows about on her knees.

"Well, and what is coming into your head now?" he asks.

She blushes and jumps up. "Catch me," she cries and barricades herself behind the table; but when he attempts to pursue her she walks calmly towards him and says; "leave that! We were going to undertake something, you know.--Keep the keys handy; in any case--perhaps we shall think of something on the way."

He takes the great bunch of keys from its peg and follows her out into the yard, on which the hot midday sun is glaring.

"Unlock the mill," she says, "it is cool in there." He does as he is bid, and with one wild leap she jumps down the steps into the half-dark s.p.a.ce which lies before them in Sabbath quiet.

"I should be frightened to be here alone," she says, looking round at him, then she points to the door of the office, the light wood of which gleams through the semi-obscurity, spreads open her fingers and shudders.

"Has he never yet told you anything?" she whispers after a little while, bending towards his ear.

He shakes his head. He grows somewhat oppressed in this close, dimly-lighted place--he breathes heavily--he longs for light and fresh air.--But Trude feels all the more comfortable in this vapor-laden atmosphere, in this mysterious twilight, where through the closed shutters stray slanting sunbeams glide like golden streamers onto the floor, and form a play-ground for myriads of little dancing particles of dust. The tremor which fills her is just to her liking;--she crouches down, then stealthily creeps up the stairs as if on the lookout for ghosts. When she reaches the gallery she gives a loud scream, and when Johannes anxiously asks what ails her, she says she only felt she must give vent to her feelings.

She climbs up to a mill-hopper, clambers over the bal.u.s.trade and slides down again on the banisters. Then she disappears in the darkness among the machinery, where the huge wheels tower above each other in gigantic ma.s.ses. Johannes lets her do just as she likes; to-day there is no danger, to-day everything is at a standstill.

A few seconds later she re-appears. She nestles up to Johannes' side, looks about with startled eyes, then pulls from her pocket a small key, hanging on a black ribbon. "What is this?" she asks softly.