DEPARTURE – Now the coach is ready to carry me off, and the post horn sounds one last time. Tell me, why is the fourth fellow so long in coming? Call him, he shouldn’t be staying behind! Meanwhile a brisk summer rain is falling. But count to a hundred, it is over. Hardly long enough to drench the hot dust. Even so, this last break is welcome. Coolness and fragrance fill the open square, and on the houses surrounding flowers appear at windows, one here one there. Finally the young fellow arrives. Hurry! Get on! Then the coach is off. But look, on the wet pavement, in front of the post office where it stood, a dry spot it has left behind, long and wide, see the wheel marks, and where the horses waited. But over there in that quaint house, where the lad lingered so long a girl standing at the window, looking at the dry spot now, kerchief in her hand, sobbing. Is she taking it so hard? No doubt. But her tears will not last long. Girls’ eyes, you know, dry ever so quickly, and before the cobbles at the market, have been dried by the sun, you might even hear that lassie laughing.
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