[The memory of the handsome stranger, and of the dance, and of all the new and wonderful emotions that had filled her heart on that eventful day, to Amrei was a sacred one indeed; for weeks she thought of it by day and dreamed of it by night. The jealous, sneering remarks of Rose, and the half-serious, half-jesting utterances of other people, who had been present at the wedding, meant nothing to her; she went about her work all the more diligently and ignored it all. Black Marianne could offer her no encouragement in her hope that the stranger would some day appear again and claim her; she had waited all her life for her John, and would continue to wait until she died.] Spring had come again. Amrei was standing beside the flowers in her window when a bee came flying up and began sucking at an open blossom. "Yes, so it is," thought Barefoot; "a girl is like a plant; she grows up in one place, and cannot go out into the world and seek--she must wait until something comes flying to her." "Were I a little bird, And had a pair of wings, I'd fly to thee; But since I can't do that, Here must I be. Though I am far from thee, In dreams I am with thee, Thou art mine own; But when I wake again, I am alone. No hour at night doth pass, But that my heart doth wake, And think of thee,--" Thus sang Amrei. It was wonderful how all songs seemed now to apply to her own life. And how many thousands of people have already sung those songs from the depths of their souls, and how many thousands more are yet to sing them! Ye who yearn and who at last embrace a heart, ye embrace along with it the love of all those who have ever been, or who ever shall be. CHAPTER XII HE IS COME One Sunday afternoon Barefoot, according to her custom, was leaning against the door-post of the house and gazing dreamily out before her, when Coaly Mathew's grandson came running up the street, beckoning to her from afar and crying: "He is come, Barefoot! He is come!" Barefoot felt her knees tremble, and she cried in a broken voice: "Where is he? Where?" "At my grandfather's, in Mossbrook Wood!" "Where? Who? Who sent you?" "Your Damie--he's down yonder in the woods." Barefoot was obliged to sit down on the stone bench in front of the house; but only for a minute. Then she pulled herself together and stood up stiffly with the words: "My brother? My Damie?" "Yes, Barefoot's Damie," said the boy, bluntly; "and he promised that you would give me a kreutzer if I would run and tell you. So now give me a kreutzer." "My Damie will give you three." "Oh, no!" said the boy, "he's been whimpering to my grandfather because he hadn't a kreutzer left." "I haven't one now either," said Barefoot, "but I'll promise you one."