"No. But they laughed. And then she gave him a slap behind--you should only have seen it--and then he gave her one. They took turns to slap each other. Do you consider that proper?" "That goes too far, you are right. But it's nothing bad. She is a good girl, quite unspoilt as yet, and he a stupid boy. Surely you don't intend to send the girl away for that? For goodness' sake, Kate, think it well over. Did they see you?" "No." "Well, then, don't do it. It's much wiser. I'll speak to the boy some time when I find an opportunity." "And you think I couldn't--I can't--I mustn't send her away?" Kate had grown quite dejected in the presence of his calmness. "There's no reason whatever for it." He was fully convinced of what he said, and wanted to take up his paper again. Then he caught her eyes, and stretched out his hand to her across the table. "Dear child, don't take everything so much to heart. You're making your life miserable--your own, the boy's--and--yes, mine too. Take things easier. There! And now I'll read my paper at last." Kate got up quietly--he was all right, he was reading. She had not given him her hand. His calmness hurt her. It was more than calmness, it was indifference, slackness. But she would not be slack, no, she would not get tired of doing her duty. And she went after her boy. Wolfgang was already upstairs in his room. But he had first crept softly up to Cilia, who was drying the plates and dishes in the kitchen, from behind, had given her a pinch and then thrown both arms round her and begged for a story: "Tell me something"--but she would not. "I don't know anything." "Oh, do tell me something. About the procession. Or even if it's only about your sow. How many little ones did she have last time?" "Thirteen." Cilia could not resist _that_ question, but still she remained taciturn. "Is your cow going to calve this year too? How many cows has the biggest farmer near you? You know, the one down near the Warthe, Haulaender. Do tell me." He knew all about everything, knew all the people at her home and all the cattle. He could never get tired of hearing about them and about the country where the bells tinkle for matins and vespers or call with a deep, solemn sound for high mass on Sundays. He was so very fond of hearing about the country, about the large fields in which the blue flax and golden rye grow, about the bluish line of forest on the horizon, about the wide, wide stretches of heath, where the bees buzz busily over the blooming heather and the fen-fowls screech near the quiet waters in the evening, when the sky and the sun are reflected red in them. "Tell me about it," he begged and urged her. But she was reluctant and shook her head. "No, go away; no, I won't. The mistress has been looking at me like that again this evening--oh, like--no, I can't explain. I believe she's going to give me notice."