Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Mary Meehan, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
She was walking slowly down the hill; not by the broad high road whichwound its way towards the town, but by the narrow footpath between thetrellises of the vines. Her little boy was with her, hanging on to herhand and walking all the time a pace in front of her, because there wasnot room on the footpath for them to walk side by side.
The afternoon was well advanced, but the sun still poured down upon herwith sufficient power to cause her to pull her dark straw hat a littlefurther down over her forehead and to keep her eyes lowered. The slopes,at the foot of which the little town lay nestling, glimmered as thoughseen through a golden mist; the roofs of the houses below glistened, andthe river, emerging yonder amongst the meadows outside the town,stretched, shimmering, into the distance. Not a quiver stirred the air,and it seemed as if the cool of the evening was yet far remote.
Bertha stooped for a moment and glanced about her. Save for her boy, shewas all alone on the hillside, and around her brooded a curiousstillness. At the cemetery, too, on the hilltop, she had not met anybodythat day, not even the old woman who usually watered the flowers and keptthe graves tidy, and with whom Bertha used often to have a chat. Berthafelt that somehow a considerable time had elapsed since she had startedon her walk, and that it was long since she had spoken to anyone.
The church clock struck—six. So, then, scarcely an hour had passed sinceshe had left the house, and an even shorter time since she had stopped inthe street to chat with the beautiful Frau Rupius. Yet even the fewminutes which had slipped away since she had stood by her husband's gravenow seemed to be long past.
"Mamma!"
Suddenly she heard her boy call. He had slipped his hand out of hers andhad run on ahead.
"I can walk quicker than you, mamma!"
"Wait, though! Wait, Fritz!" exclaimed Bertha. "You're not going to leaveyour mother alone, are you?"
She followed him and again took him by the hand.
"Are we going home already?" asked Fritz.
"Yes; we will sit by the open window until it grows quite dark."
Before long they had reached the foot of the hill and they began to walktowards the town in the shade of the chestnut trees which bordered thehigh-road, now white with dust. Here again they met but few people. Alongthe road a couple of wagons came towards them, the drivers, whip inhand, trudging along beside the horses. Then two cyclists rode by fromthe town towards the country, leaving clouds of dust behind them. Berthastopped mechanically and gazed after them until they had almostdisappeared from view.
In the meantime Fritz had clambered up onto the bench beside the road.
"Look, mamma! See what I can do!"
He made ready to jump, but his mother took hold of him by the arms andlifted him carefully to the ground. Then she sat down on the bench.
"Are you tired?" asked Fritz.
"Yes," she answered, surprised to find that she was indeed feelingfatigued.
It was only then that she realized that the sultry air had wearied her tothe point of sleepiness. She could not, moreover, remember havingexperienced such warm weather in the middle of May.
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