"That's plain enough," said Hansei. "A few days ago, when the wood-carver from your village was here, they were saying that the owner of the freehold farm there would like to sell his place. But who's got money enough to buy that?" "You see," said the old woman to Walpurga, "what a heretic and believer in dreams your husband has become. He learned all that from the innkeeper. And now give me the child and hurry out of here. Come, you little chamois-kid, jump about and dance." She sang to the child, and it stretched forth its arms toward her, just like a bird glad to return to its nest. Hansei and Walpurga left the room. The child lay beside the grandmother, and the two were quite happy together. "And now I'll milk the cow," said Hansei. "You?" "Yes. Who else? Mother can't do everything." "No; let me do that now." Walpurga went out to the stable with her husband; she wanted to relieve him of the task, but it would not do, and Hansei said: "There's no need of it, either; that'll all soon be different. When you become landlady, we'll have two servants, at least, and they can see to the milking. We'll have room for six cows besides our own, and will be entitled to have as many more on the mountain meadow. Then you can make butter and cheese, and do what you like." Hansei seemed to be talking to the cow. He did not care to see what sort of a face his wife would make. But now she had, at all events, heard of the matter, and they could talk it over, afterward. Walpurga was about to reply, when the stable door opened, and a girl entered, carrying a cake on a large platter. She removed the cloth with which it was covered, and said: "My master, the landlord of the Chamois, sends this with his kind greetings, and his welcome to the wife." "You silly thing!" exclaimed Hansei, jumping to his feet, and looking quite oddly with the milk-pail buckled fast to him. "You silly thing! People don't carry cakes into a stable. Take it into the room, and when you get home, give them my best thanks, and tell the innkeeper, our godfather, to honor us with a visit soon--no, we'll come to see him this forenoon; and now you may go." Walpurga remembered that her mother advised her not to attempt to change things at once. She determined, for the present, to listen to everything, and let affairs go on in their own way, keeping her eyes open in the mean while. Time would show how the land lay. Hansei went on milking the cows, and Walpurga said nothing. "One can't always have the world all to one's-self, the way it was down at the lake this morning; but while there's such a bustle about my ears I must keep my own counsel," thought she. When Hansei had finished milking, and stood there with a pail in each hand, he said: "What do you think of it?" "It's splendid milk; and there's lots of it, too." "No, I mean what do you think of the landlord of the Chamois?" "It's very polite of him, and I'm much obliged to him for it. We must try to get even with him."