It was rather hard work, for he screwed
up his mouth and cramped his fingers. Still, Hoffman was not wholly
satisfied with his eyes.
"Gottlieb," he said to one of the men, "take him to terrace
ninety-eight. That hasn't been touched yet. We'll see what sort of
workman he is." He spoke to Dietrich again. "What is Gretchen to you?"
For Hoffman knew Gretchen; many a time she had filled her basket and
drawn her crowns.
"She is my sweetheart, Herr." And there was no mockery in the youth's
eyes as he said this.
"Take him along, Gottlieb. You will have no further use for this letter
from her highness, so I'll keep it and frame it and hang it in the
office." Which showed that Hoffman himself had had lessons in the gentle
art of mockery.
Terrace ninety-eight was given over to small grapes; thus, many bunches
had to be picked to fill the basket. But Dietrich went to work with a
will. His fingers were deft and his knife was sharp; and by midsun he
had turned his sixth basket, which was fair work, considering.
As Hoffman did not feed his employees, Dietrich was obliged to beg from
his co-workers. Very willingly they shared with him their coarse bread
and onions. He ate the bread and stuffed the onions in his pocket. There
was no idling.
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