es threw their cool, flickering
shadows on his face. He was smeared all over with grape-juice, his
sturdy fingers grasped a half-eaten bunch even in his sleep. Thekla was
keeping Lina quiet by teaching her how to weave a garland for her head
out of field-flowers and autumn-tinted leaves. The maiden sat on the
ground, with her back to the valley beyond, the child kneeling by her,
watching the busy fingers with eager intentness. Both looked up as I
drew near, and we exchanged a few words.

"Where is the master?" I asked. "I promised to await his return; he
wished to give me his arm down the wooden steps; but I do not see him."

"He is in the higher vineyard," said Thekla, quietly, but not looking
round in that direction. "He will be some time there, I should think.
He went with the pastor and his wife; he will have to speak to his
labourers and his friends. My arm is strong, and I can leave Max in
Lina's care for five minutes. If you are tired, and want to go back, let
me help you down the steps; they are steep and slippery."

I had turned to look up the valley. Three or four hundred yards off,
in the higher vineyard, walked the dignified pastor, and his homely,
decorous wife. Behind came the Fraeulein Anna, in her short-sleeved
Sunday gown, daintily holding a parasol over her luxuriant brown
hair. Close behind her came Herr Mueller, stopping now to speak to his
men,--again, to cull out a bunch of grapes to tie on to the Fraeulein's
stick; and by my feet sate the proud serving-maid in her country dress,
waiting for my answer, with serious, up-turned eyes, and sad, composed
face.

"No, I am much obliged to you, Thekla; and if I did not feel so strong I
would have thankfully taken your arm. But I only wanted to leave a
message for the master, just to say that I have gone home."

"Lina will give it to the father when he comes down," said Thekla.

I went slowly down into the garden. The great labour of the day was
over, and the younger part of the population had returned to the
village, and were preparing the fireworks and pistol-shootings for the
evening. Already one or two of those well-known German carts (in the
shape of a V) were standing near the vineyard gates, the patient oxen
meekly waiting while basketful after basketful of grapes were being
emptied into the leaf-lined receptacle.

As I sat down in my easy-chair close to the open window through which I
had entered, I could see the men and women on the hill-sid