"Why won't you have anything to say to me?" he was asking Theresa. "You seem to be knitting all your wits into that blue worsted stocking. If Rudolf, now, were here, you'd brighten up directly." "But as he isn't, there's no occasion for it," said Theresa, carelessly, and continuing to knit with all her might. "What a pleasant voice you have, Theresa! I wish you would sing us a song." "That's likely, isn't it?" said the girl. "Come now, do." "Thank you, I am going to take my little sisters to bed." And she moved away from him. He looked after her with a mixture of admiration and pique. Just as the traveller, after some inquiries about the roads, was about to depart, two more men hastily entered. The first was a Capuchin friar, of stalwart make, with the hood of his brown woollen gown pulled so forward that nothing could readily be made out of him but a thick, flowing beard of the hue that partial mothers are apt to call auburn, though others often pronounce it red. "The peace of God rest on this house, through Jesus Christ our Lord!" said he. "For ever and ever!" meekly responded the rest. The Capuchin's companion was a light, active young mountaineer of three-and-twenty, brown as a nut, and well becoming the picturesque national costume. As soon as Theresa, who was just leaving the kitchen, saw him, she reddened very much, and hastily withdrew. "How the Passeyr is swollen already!" said the Capuchin. "Is the water out?" cried the traveller, suddenly. "Then I don't know that I've any mind to go on." "Pooh, pooh!" said the Sandwirth, rather impatiently, "the river cannot have overflowed its banks. You see it has not hindered these foot-travellers. However, sir," changing his tone to one more conciliatory, "if you will oblige us with your company, you shall have as good and clean a bed as any in the Tyrol, though I cannot promise you a flounced pillow and satin damask coverlet, such as you might get at Botzen." "No, no, I'll take my chance," said the man of indecision. "Is there any one here that will see me through the valley?" "You cannot well miss your road, sir; but my boy Johann shall start you on it, if you will." "Thank you; I will give him a few kreutzers." "No need, sir, thank you." And the Sandwirth saw him out, and gave him some encouragement about the weather, and watched him off; and then returned laughing. The others laughed too. "Gone at last!" exclaimed Franz. "I thought he never would make up his mind." "Now for business," said Speckbacher, looking eager. "I have hardly spoken to Father Joachim yet," said the Sandwirth, approaching the Capuchin, and kneeling. "Your blessing, father!" The Capuchin, before blessing him, threw back his hood, thereby revealing a frank, determined, intelligent countenance. He was by no means an old man; probably a few years younger, even, than Speckbacher, and apparently his equal in strength. "Anna, is there still any supper left?" said the Sandwirth, rather apprehensively.