You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
And that impressed her too. Maggie grew lively and talked a lot as we
walked. She only mentioned Glahn once; she asked:
"And will Glahn go with us when we go away?"
"No," I said. "He won't. Are you sorry about that?"
"No, no," she said quickly. "I am glad."
She said no more about him, and I felt easier. And Maggie went home
with me, too, when I asked her.
When she went, a couple of hours later, I climbed up the ladder to
Glahn's room and knocked at the thin reed door. He was in. I said:
"I came to tell you that perhaps we'd better not go out shooting
to-morrow."
"Why not?" said Glahn.
"Because I'm not so sure but I might make a little mistake and put a
bullet in your throat."
Glahn did not answer, and I went down again. After that warning he
would hardly dare to go out to-morrow--but what did he want to get
Maggie out under my window for, and fool with her there at the top of
his voice? Why didn't he go back home again, if the letter really asked
him, instead of going about as he often did, clenching his teeth and
shouting at the empty air: "Never, never! I'll be drawn and quartered
first"?
But the morning after I had warned him, as I said, there was Glahn the
same as ever, standing by my bed, calling out:
"Up with you, comrade! It's a lovely day; we must go out and shoot
something.
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