sharpened, too; she felt a certain shyness in her husband, noticed his
weaknesses, and was deeply hurt when, on the second evening after her
return, he went to the inn, "so that people should not say he was under
her thumb." Then, Hanseï, coaxed by the shrewd innkeeper, had set his
heart upon acquiring the inn, now that they had "wealth," and upon thus
becoming the most important man in the village. But with much tact and
cleverness Walpurga made him give up the plan, thereby arousing the
innkeeper's hostility, which became rampant when the reunited couple did
not appear at a kind of fete which he gave, ostensibly in their honour,
but really to benefit by the proceeds. By this slight the esteem and
admiration of the whole village were turned to ill-will and spite.

Hanseï and Walpurga were almost boycotted; but their isolation made them
draw closer together, work harder, and enjoy to the fullest the harmony
of their domestic life. Moreover, the freehold farmer, Grubersepp, who
was a personage in the district, and had never before deigned to take
much notice of Hanseï, now called at the cottage and offered his advice
on many questions. When on a Sunday the village doctor and the priest
were seen to visit the cottage, opinion began to veer around once more
in the good people's favour.

It was Walpurga's old uncle Peter, a poor pitch-burner, who was known in
the district as the "pitch-mannikin," who brought the first news that
the freehold farm, where Walpurga's mother had in her young days served
as a maid, was for sale at a very low price for ready money. It was six
hours from the lake, in the mountains--splendid soil, fine forest,
everything perfect. Hanseï decided to have a look at it, and Grubersepp
went with him to value it. The uncle's description was found to be
highly coloured; but after some bargaining the purchase was effected,
and soon the news was bruited about the village that Hanseï had paid "in