“Not I,” said he, reddening. “It would seem now as if I only wanted her for a housekeeper. Besides, she avoids me at every turn, and will not even look at me. I am sure she bears me some ill-will about that ne’er-do-well.” There was silence between us for some time, which he at length broke. “The pastor has a good and comely daughter. Her mother is a famous housewife. They often have asked me to come to the parsonage and smoke a pipe. When the vintage is over, and I am less busy, I think I will go there, and look about me.” “When is the vintage?” asked I. “I hope it will take place soon, for I am growing so well and strong I fear I must leave you shortly; but I should like to see the vintage first.” “Oh, never fear! you must not travel yet awhile; and Government has fixed the grape-gathering to begin on the fourteenth.” “What a paternal Government! How does it know when the grapes will be ripe? Why cannot every man fix his own time for gathering his own grapes?” “That has never been our way in Germany. There are people employed by the Government to examine the vines, and report when the grapes are ripe. It is necessary to make laws about it; for, as you must have seen, there is nothing but the fear of the law to protect our vineyards and fruit-trees; there are no enclosures along the Berg-Strasse, as you tell me you have in England; but, as people are only allowed to go into the vineyards on stated days, no one, under pretence of gathering his own produce, can stray into his neighbour’s grounds and help himself, without some of the duke’s foresters seeing him.” “Well,” said I, “to each country its own laws.” I think it was on that very evening that Thekla came in for something. She stopped arranging the tablecloth and the flowers, as if she had something to say, yet did not know how to begin. At length I found that her sore, hot heart, wanted some sympathy; her hand was against every one’s, and she fancied every one had turned against her. She looked up at me, and said, a little abruptly,— “Does the gentleman know that I go on the fifteenth?” “So soon?” said I, with surprise. “I thought you were to remain here till All Saints’ Day.” “So I should have done—so I must have done—if the Fräulein had not kindly given me leave to accept of a place—a very good place too—of housekeeper to a widow lady at Frankfort. It is just the sort of situation I have always wished for. I expect I shall be so happy and comfortable there.” “Methinks the lady doth profess too much,” came into my mind. I saw she expected me to doubt the probability of her happiness, and was in a defiant mood. “Of course,” said I, “you would hardly have wished to leave Heppenheim if you had been happy here; and every new place always promises fair, whatever its performance may be. But wherever you go, remember you have always a friend in me.” “Yes,” she replied, “I think you are to be trusted. Though, from my experience, I should say that of very few men.”