She came back with
another letter in her hand, and found Waerli sitting in her pantry.
"The wrong letter left at No. 54," she said, "and Madame in a horrid
temper in consequence. What a nuisance you are to-day, Waerli! Can't you
read? Here, give the remaining letters to me. I'll sort them."
Waerli took off his little round hat, and wiped his forehead.
"I can't read to-day, Marie," he said; something has gone wrong with me.
Every name I look at turns to Marie Truog. I ought to have brought every
one of the letters to you. But I knew they could not be all for you,
though you have so many admirers. For they would not be likely to write
at the same time, to catch the same post."
"It would be very dull if they did," said Marie, who was polishing some
water-bottles with more diligence than was usual or even necessary.
"But I am the one who loves you, Mariechen," the little postman said.
"I have always loved you ever since I can remember. I am not much to
look at, Mariechen: the binding of the book is not beautiful, but the
book itself is not a bad book."
Marie went on polishing the water-bottles. Then she held them up to the
light to admire their unwonted cleanness.
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