her friend why she, for her part, had not
thought Gottlieb so good always. He was
too proud of his house and bit of field; he
worked at his joinery as if he could live
without it; and people did say, that he must
soon needs try to live without it, for his little
business was being lost. Dorel was too coy
and innocent she feared. Gottlieb could get
on faster with the tailor's daughter, who
must call herself Lisette; because, forsooth,
Lisel (Lizzy) was not fine enough!

The old woman next endeavoured to show
her daughter how she had secretly grieved at,
and dreaded Gottlieb's boorishness and sullenness
of temper. At last, Minel put up her work.
Dorel did not, as usual, seek to delay her
going. When she was gone, the old woman
took the hand of her daughter tenderly and
Dorel fell upon her neck and said, "Do not
be angry, mother, but I am not able to
think hardly of Gottlieb."

That foolish young man after he had broken
with his sweetheart went to the public-house.
There, he sat down at the table with a highly
distinguished looking person: very lean, with
sharp nose and elbows, and a yellow skin,
but a most dignified air—the tailor Wenzel.
He was a tailor who had seen the world;
who in his day, as he told the village people,
had clothed princes. Wenzel soon found by
the young fellow's conduct what had happened;
and, although Gottlieb was as rude to
him as he had been to Dorel's mother, he
bore with the ill humour and did his best,
like a good father, to divert the youth
into the snares of Lisel. He fished with the
clumsiest of bait; but fine angling would
have been lost upon Gottlieb, as indeed any
kind of angling might have been; for he had
then only one notion in his head. Having
wronged Dorel, he meant she should repent
it—for he still clung to her in a churlish
way—and his one thought that he enjoyed
over his brandy was "I'll make her come
after me yet." The tailor's hints were, however,
so far in accordance with the youth's
mood that he adopted the advice to go,
when he had taken a full dose of the boldness
purchaseable at a tavern, to the tailor's
house.

There, he broke in abruptly upon Mother
Wenzel and her daughter; the old woman in
an armchair by the stove with a pet cat upon
her lap; Lisel upon a stool, reading. When
the damsel saw Gottlieb she uttered a small
shriek and dragged a dirty cloth from
underneath the oven which she threw over her
shoulders, dragged about with all her
fingers in her hair, and said, "Good gracious!
this is too great an honour! Please to be
seated."

"If I'm not disturbing you," said Gottlieb,
placing himself quite at his ease, still in a
dogged way. "You were reading the Bible
or the hymn-book, I suppose?"

"Oh dear, no," said Lisel, ashamed of the
imputation, and quite eager to rebut it. "The
book is called Rinaldo Rinaldini. Properly
he's a robber; but so very nice. And Rosa—
that is Rinaldini's love—she has such courage;
and the Lion—that is Rinaldini—becomes
when he speaks to her such a lamb. Doesn't
he, mother?"

"That's true," she replied. "Lisel reads so
naturally."

"Go on, then," said Gottheb. "I'm in
the mood myself, just now, to be a Ruinini, or
what's the fellow's name. The world's too
bad for me, and I've broken with Dorel.
But the girl shall come after me yet."

"Broken with Dorel!"

"Yes. She is too proud, and her mother
is the vilest woman in the world."

"There you have it!" said old Mother
Wenzel. "Well for you, you are out of the
snare. You would have had to support that
entire tribe of children. Old and young were
regularly fishing for you. Such a rich, handsome
son-in-law is not to be had every day.
But what will you do now, Gottlieb? You
can't stay as you are."

"No," said the lout. "In spite to Dorel,
that I can't. So I come here."

The mother rose, and, gently sliding her
beloved cat down to the ground, made the
young man a curtsey. "Too much honour
for us and Lisel!" Lisel looked upon the
ground and fumbled in the pages of Rinaldo,
waiting for more precise communications.
The cat, rubbing against the visitor's leg,
received a kick, and departed wailing. "The
nasty creature!" exclaimed Mrs. Wenzel,
giving the lie to her sympathy with Gottlieb
by caressing her afflicted favourite. Lisel
listened attentively for the next words of the
new Rinaldo. They were: "How can you
keep such a beast of a cat? It shan't come
near me. I can't bear dogs either, the beasts.
Besides, why do you keep cats? What are
mousetraps for?" The old woman sat down
with a grimace, and Lisel began reading
viciously. Gottlieb pulled out his clay pipe,
filled it, lighted it, and composed himself with
quiet smoking. "Yes, yes," he said presently.
"Dorel was not so bad, and things wouldn't
have gone so far but for the mother. She
was too bad altogether; she can talk, ay, she
can talk one's heart asunder. But Dorel
shall come after me yet. I don't care."

The old woman stroked the cat that was
again at rest upon her lap; Lisel read on;
but both women were at heart vexed and
impatient: "Well, to be sure," Gottlieb
continued; "Dorel's properly a neat girl. Be she
as she may, I should like to see the girl that
is her match. And what I like in her is, that
she can't abide beasts of cats, who do nothing
but eat up one's victuals." Mrs. Wenzel's
wrath thereupon boiled over, but she still
prudently endeavoured to extract from the young
man some definite pledge of surrender to her
Lisel. Father Wenzel, coming in soon after
from the tavern, found his household in
distress, his daughter in despair and rage behind