Röschen chattered incessantly, even when her father did not answer her. She spoke to the wind, as though it could understand her, and only fanned her so merrily because it was just as happy as she. The white gossamer threads blew over the big plain, where the fields full of stubble were already being prepared again for the new seed, and hung around the young girl's face. Rosa had put her prettiest dress on, a light blue summer dress. It suited her well, and she did not feel at all cold to-day, although she was very chilly as a rule. Her thin blood coursed warmly through her veins and painted roses on her cheeks, that were usually so pale. How happy she was! "Mikolai, Mikolai," she sang to the wind. What did he look like? Handsome and smart, of course, much handsomer and smarter than she remembered him. Her eyes gleamed, her lips burned; she would give him a hearty kiss, many, many hearty kisses. It was nice to be able to kiss somebody whom you were very fond of. Marianna had washed her head the night before with soft soap, and rubbed pomade well into the hair, so that it should shine brightly and be smooth when Mikolai came. As Rosa did not wish to be outdone by [Pg 179] her, she had put her head into a basin of water. But she could not make up her mind to use the greasy pomade, so her dry hair--brittle like that of all anæmic people--was twice as dry as usual, and stood out like a reddish, curly mane round her head. Her blue ribbon could hardly keep the plait together, and the dry, curly mass emitted hundreds of sparks as soon as a sunbeam fell on it. As they drove through Starawies they saw Mr. Böhnke coming out of the rectory. They were stopping for a moment at the inn, as Mr. Tiralla felt so chilly that he wanted a glass of gin. They called to him, that is, Mr. Tiralla shouted with a loud voice, "Little Böhnke, heigh, little Böhnke. _Psia krew!_ where are your ears?" The schoolmaster gave a start. He hesitated for a moment; there was the corner, should he not get out of the way quickly, as though he had not heard the call? However, he crossed the street. There sat Mr. Tiralla in the carriage, fat and red as usual, and there was nothing in his face, neither pallor nor lines of suffering round his mouth, to betray that he had eaten mushrooms, poisonous mushrooms. Or had she not given him any? If only she had not--oh, if only she had not! Böhnke came slowly across the broad village street, as though something were holding him back. He had a shrinking feeling when he looked at Mr. Tiralla. The man had received him hospitably, had been delighted to see him, had put food and drink before him, and he had----No, he was a rough customer, a hog, a bully, quite a vulgar fellow, for whom he had no pity. Had she not set the mushrooms before him? She intended doing so.