In the Year '13: A Tale of Mecklenburg Life — John Shaqi
In the Year '13: A Tale of Mecklenburg LifeReuter, Fritz
General
In the Year '13: A Tale of Mecklenburg Life
Reuter, Fritz
Mecklenburg (Germany : Region) -- Fiction
"Herr Droi," said Mamsell Westphalen, "that's a bad business. You
couldn't put on that imp Fritz Sahlmann's things, for if you did manage
to squeeze yourself into them, they would be much too short for you.
And the Herr Amtshauptmann's clothes? No, Herr Droi, you mustn't ask
that of me. It would be just as if I were to set fire to the Schloss
with my own hands. And, heaven be praised, we have no other men here.
But Herr Droi you saved us when we were in danger this afternoon, and
so I will save you in return. Your wife knows that you're up here
amongst Christian folk. You shall sleep to-night in my four-post
bedstead, and I will sleep with the housemaid; I'll put on fresh linen.
Come, Frau Meister." So saying she went out, and presently she came
back again, put fresh sheets on the bed and asked once more: "Herr
Droi, are you not afraid?"
And Herr Droi again replied that he was not.
"That's all right," said she; "for it often goes tap--tap--tap, in a
curious way close by. But it never comes into the room. I have had a
horseshoe nailed over the door.--Listen, just listen! The Frenchmen are
going to bed now. Just listen to the chattering! Herr Droi can you
understand it all?"
"Ah, yes," said Herr Droi.
"I can easily believe it, for the wall is very thin. This was one large
room once, but now it's made into two. Well, good night, Herr Droi.
Come, Frau Meister."
So saying she went out, followed by the Frau Meister, and shortly
afterwards by Herr Droi too, who suddenly remembered he had a message
for the Frau Meister to take to his wife. Scarcely were the three out
of the room, when some one flew along the corridor where the night-lamp
was burning, into Mamsell Westphalen's room. It was that young rogue
Fritz Sahlmann, and under his arm he had a lump of ice as large as a
pumpkin; he climbed up the bedpost like a cat, and laid the lump of ice
on the top of the bed. "Wait a little while, you old termagant, this is
for the box on the ears I got," he said to himself. "It will perhaps
cool you a little." And he slid down again and was out of the door in a
moment.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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