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The Love of Ulrich Nebendahl by Jerome K. (Jerome Klapka) Jerome
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THE LOVE OF ULRICH NEBENDAHL
By JEROME K. JEROME

THE LOVE OF ULRICH NEBENDAHL

Perhaps of all, it troubled most the Herr Pfarrer. Was he not the
father of the village? And as such did it not fall to him to see his
children marry well and suitably? marry in any case. It was the duty
of every worthy citizen to keep alive throughout the ages the sacred
hearth fire, to rear up sturdy lads and honest lassies that would
serve God, and the Fatherland. A true son of Saxon soil was the Herr
Pastor Winckelmann--kindly, simple, sentimental.

"Why, at your age, Ulrich--at your age," repeated the Herr Pastor,
setting down his beer and wiping with the back of his hand his large
uneven lips, "I was the father of a family--two boys and a girl. You
never saw her, Ulrich; so sweet, so good. We called her Maria." The
Herr Pfarrer sighed and hid his broad red face behind the raised cover
of his pewter pot.

"They must be good fun in a house, the little ones," commented Ulrich,
gazing upward with his dreamy eyes at the wreath of smoke ascending
from his long-stemmed pipe. "The little ones, always my heart goes
out to them."

"Take to yourself a wife," urged the Herr Pfarrer. "It is your duty.
The good God has given to you ample means. It is not right that you
should lead this lonely life. Bachelors make old maids; things of no
use."

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