She, no doubt, expected that degenerate
fool of a Wildschlosser to come wooing after her; "if he did he
should meet his deserts." It was the favourite reproach whenever she
chose to vent her fury on the mute, blushing, weeping young widow,
whose glance at her babies was her only appeal against the cruel
accusation.
On Midsummer eve, Heinz the Schneiderlein, who had all day been
taking toll from the various attendants at the Friedmund Wake, came
up and knocked at the door. He had a bundle over his shoulder and a
bag in his hand, which last he offered to her.
"The toll! It is for the Lady Baroness."
"You are my Lady Baroness. I levy toll for this my young lord."
"Take it to her, good Heinz, she must have the charge, and needless
strife I will not breed."
The angry notes of Dame Kunigunde came up: "How now, knave
Schneiderlein! Come down with the toll instantly. It shall not be
tampered with! Down, I say, thou thief of a tailor."
"Go; prithee go, vex her not," entreated Christina.
"Coming, lady!" shouted Heinz, and, disregarding all further
objurgations from beneath, he proceeded to deposit his bundle, and
explain that it had been entrusted to him by a pedlar from Ulm, who
would likewise take charge of anything she might have to send in
return, and he then ran down just in time to prevent a domiciliary
visit from the old lady.
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