Who could tell how long they might be covered; the winding tracks
hidden; the narrow forces looking like black water or molten iron
against that glittering whiteness? Mary could only walk along the road
by Loughrigg to the bench called 'Rest and be thankful,' from which she
looked with longing eyes across towards the Langdale Pikes, and to the
sharp cone-shaped peak, known as Coniston Old Man, just visible above
the nearer hills. Fraeulein Mueller suggested that it was in just such
weather as this that a well brought up young lady, a young lady with
_Vernunft_ and _Anstand_, should devote herself to the improvement of
her mind.
'Let us read German this _abscheulich_ afternoon,' said the Fraeulein.
'Suppose we go on with the "Sorrows of Werther."'
'Werther was a fool,' cried Mary; 'any book but that.'
'Will you choose your own book?'
'Let me read Heine.'
Fraeulein looked doubtful. There were things in Heine--an all-pervading
tone--which rendered him hardly an appropriate poet for 'the young
person.' But Fraeulein compromised the matter by letting Mary read Atta
Troll, the exact bearing of which neither of them understood.
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