Profoundly wrapt
up in meditation on the growth of the city and his cabbages, he sat
looking in the fire, and puffing his pipe in silence. One night,
however, as the gentle Amy, according to custom, lighted her lover
to the outer door, and he, according to custom, took his parting
salute, the smack resounded so vigorously through the long, silent
entry as to startle even the dull ear of Wolfert. He was slowly
roused to a new source of anxiety. It had never entered into his
head that this mere child, who, as it seemed, but the other day had
been climbing about his knees and playing with dolls and baby
houses, could all at once be thinking of lovers and matrimony. He
rubbed his eyes, examined into the fact, and really found that
while he had been dreaming of other matters, she had actually grown
to be a woman, and, what was worse, had fallen in love. Here arose
new cares for Wolfert. He was a kind father, but he was a prudent
man. The young man was a lively, stirring lad, but then he had
neither money nor land. Wolfert's ideas all ran in one channel,
and he saw no alternative in case of a marriage but to portion off
the young couple with a corner of his cabbage garden, the whole of
which was barely sufficient for the support of his family.
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