Here I must touch off a good side in the neighbours of Frishets, namely that they awaited the young couple in perfect good faith. Frank, by his behaviour towards his father, had so firmly installed himself in their esteem that nothing could shake him in it. We cannot indeed disguise the fact that with all of them it somewhat ran counter to their ideas of what should be when he chose for his wife an illegitimate orphan, for in these matters no one was better or worse than his neighbours, and every one said secretly to himself, “For my part, I could not have done it.” But as it was Frank who did it they made their peace with him, and as it was Staza who was the object of his choice they made their peace with her as well.
And so the happy pair were escorted by such a goodly company as never was seen before in Frishets, and a festival was celebrated the like of which few a short time before ever expected to see again originate from Loyka’s farm. People collected on foot and in carriages from all parts of the neighbourhood—not only in honour of Frank’s bridal day, but also in honour of old Loyka’s recovery, who had for so many years wandered among them without health and without mind.
What more have I to relate?
Beside the coach-house in the two chambers the legends and ballads of old times, which had been banished for so many years, took root once more. And Loyka’s court-yard beamed like the face of a happy listener.
If we wish to take a peep for a moment, we can do so. The farm is again free of access to every one: the cloth-pedlar and the tinkers come for a night’s lodging, musicians often turn aside thither, and listeners, male and female, come from the village to hear them play.
Again Frank listened to the song or the story in these chambers, and led Staza thither—how well-known and beloved wherever they are seen!
And, if we wish, we can take a peep at Loyka sometimes in the morning when the servants are preparing themselves for their work afield.
Old Loyka with his pipe in his mouth promenades about the court, inspects the implements, and the servants salute him with, “The Lord God give you good morrow, pantata.”
Old Loyka thanks them. “As God wills, my children”, says he.
“Are we to go to-day to work in the meadow, pantata?”
“Have you asked your young master? Go where he tells you.”
