And Barefoot was indeed deeply and quickly moved by anything; but she was strong and light-hearted like a child. It was true of her, what Marianne had observed when she went to sleep for the first time in the old woman's house; she was waking and sleeping, laughing and weeping, almost all at the same time. Every occurrence and every emotion affected her very strongly, but she soon got over it and recovered her balance. She continued to weep. "You make one's heart so heavy," said Damie complainingly. [Illustration: TEARS FELL UPON THE PATERNAL COAT] "It's hard enough to have to go away from one's home and live among strangers. You ought rather to cheer me up, than to be so--so--." "Right thinking is the best cheer," replied Amrei. "It does not weigh upon the heart at all. But you are right--you have enough to bear; a single pound added to the load might crush you. I am foolish after all. But come--let us see now what the sun has to say, when father walks out in its light once more. No, I didn't mean to say that. Come, you yourself surely know where we must go, and what you must take leave of; for even if you are going only a couple of miles away, still you are going away from the village, and you must bid it good-by. It's hard enough for me that I am not to have you with me any longer--no, I mean that I am not to be with you any longer, for I don't want to rule over you, as people say I do. Yes, yes,--old Marianne was right; _alone_ is a great word; one can't possibly learn all that it means. As long as you were living on the other side of the street, even if I did not see you for a week at a time, it did not matter; for I could have you at any moment, and that was as good as living together. But now--well, it's not out of the world, after all. But remember, don't try to lift too much, or hurt yourself in your work. And when any of your things are torn, send them to me--I'll mend them for you, and continue to knit for you. And now, come, let us go to the churchyard." Damie objected to this plan, making the plea that he felt the parting heavy enough, and did not want to make it any heavier. His sister gave in. He took off his father's clothes again, and Barefoot packed them in the sack she had once worn as a cloak in the days when she kept the geese. This sack still bore her father's name upon it, and she charged Damie specially to send her back the sack at the first opportunity. The brother and sister went out together. A cart belonging to Hirlingen was passing through the village; Damie hailed it, and quickly loaded his possessions on it. Then he walked with his sister, hand in hand, out of the village, and Barefoot sought to cheer him up by saying: "Do you remember the riddle I asked you there by the oven?" "No." "Think: What is best about the oven?" "No." "Of the oven this is best, 'tis said, That it never itself doth eat the bread." "Yes, you can be cheerful--you're going to stay home."