CONCERNING WARLI AND MARIE

WAeRLI, the little hunchback postman, a cheery soul, came whistling up the Kurhaus stairs, carrying with him that precious parcel of registered letters, which gave him the position of being the most important person in Petershof. He was a linguist, too, was Waerli, and could speak broken English in a most fascinating way, agreeable to every one, but intelligible only to himself. Well, he came whistling up the stairs when he heard Marie’s blithe voice humming her favourite spinning-song.

“Ei, Ei!” he said to himself; “Marie is in a good temper to-day. I will give her a call as I pass.”

He arranged his neckerchief and smoothed his curls; and when he reached the end of the landing, he paused outside a little glass-door, and, all unobserved, watched Marie in her pantry cleaning the candlesticks and lamps.

Marie heard a knock, and, looking up from her work, saw Waerli.

“Good day, Waerli,” she said, glancing hurriedly at a tiny broken mirror suspended on the wall. “I suppose you have a letter for me. How delightful!”

“Never mind about the letter just now,” he said, waving his hand as though wishing to dismiss the subject. “How nice to hear you singing so sweetly, Marie! Dear me, in the old days at Gruesch, how often I have heard that song of the spinning-wheels. You have forgotten the old days, Marie, though you remember the song.”

“Give me my letter, Waerli, and go about your work,” said Marie, pretending to be impatient. But all the same her eyes looked extremely friendly. There was something very winning about the hunchback’s face.

“Ah, ah! Marie,” he said, shaking his curly head; “I know how it is with you: you only like people in fine binding. They have not always fine hearts.”

“What nonsense you talk Waerli!” said Marie “There, just hand me the oil-can. You can fill this lamp for me. Not too full, you goose! And this one also, ah, you’re letting the oil trickle down! Why, you’re not fit for anything except carrying letters! Here, give me my letter.”

“What pretty flowers,” said Waerli. “Now if there is one thing I do like, it is a flower. Can you spare me one, Marie? Put one in my button-hole, do!”

“You are a nuisance this afternoon,” said Marie, smiling and pinning a flower on Waerli’s blue coat. Just then a bell rang violently.

“Those Portuguese ladies will drive me quite mad,” said Marie. “They always ring just when I am enjoying myself?”

“When you, an enjoying yourself!” said Waerli triumphantly.

“Of course,” returned Marie; “I always do enjoy cleaning the oil-lamps; I always did!”

“Ah, I’d forgotten the oil-lamps!” said Waerli.

“And so had I!” laughed Marie. “Na, na, there goes that bell again! Won’t they be angry! Won’t they scold at me! Here, Waerli, give me my letter, and I’ll be off.”

“I never told you I had any letter for you,” remarked Waerli. “It was entirely your own idea. Good afternoon, Fraeulein Marie.”

The Portuguese ladies’ bell rang again, still more passionately this time; but Marie did not seem to hear nor care. She wished to be revenged on that impudent postman. She went to the top of the stairs and called after Waerli in her most coaxing tones:

“Do step down one moment; I want to show you something!”

“I must deliver the registered letters,” said Waerli, with official haughtiness. “I have already wasted too much of my time.”

“Won’t you waste a few more minutes on me?” pleaded Marie pathetically. “It is not often I see you now.”

Waerli came down again, looking very happy.

“I want to show you such a beautiful photograph I’ve had taken,” said Marie. “Ach, it is beautiful!”

“You must give one to me,” said Waerli eagerly.

“Oh, I can’t do that,” replied Marie, as she opened the drawer and took out a small packet. “It was a present to me from the Polish gentleman himself. He saw me the other day here in the pantry. I was so tired, and I had fallen asleep with my broom, just as you see me here. So he made a photograph of me. He admires me very much. Isn’t it nice? and isn’t the Polish gentleman clever? and isn’t it nice to have so much attention paid to one? Oh, there’s that horrid bell again! Good afternoon, Herr Waerli. That is all I have to say to you, thank you.”

Waerli’s feelings towards the Polish gentleman were not of the friendliest that day.