I'll sort them." Waerli took off his little round hat, and wiped his forehead.
"I can't read to-day, Marie," he said; something has gone wrong with me.
Every name I look at turns to Marie Truog.

I ought to have brought every one of the letters to you.

But I knew they could not be all for you, though you have so many admirers.

For they would not be likely to write at the same time, to catch the same post." "It would be very dull if they did," said Marie, who was polishing some water-bottles with more diligence than was usual or even necessary.
"But I am the one who loves you, Mariechen," the little postman said.
"I have always loved you ever since I can remember.

I am not much to look at, Mariechen: the binding of the book is not beautiful, but the book itself is not a bad book." Marie went on polishing the water-bottles.