sorbed, popped out and gave her away. And Anna
blessed that dimple. It meant an extra half-hour in bed for her; it made
Sabina light the fire, turn out the kitchen and wash endless cups and
saucers that had been left over from the evening before. Hans, the
scullery boy, did not come until seven. He was the son of the butcher--a
mean, undersized child very much like one of his father's sausages,
Sabina thought. His red face was covered with pimples, and his nails
indescribably filthy. When Herr Lehmann himself told Hans to get a
hairpin and clean them he said they were stained from birth because his
mother had always got so inky doing the accounts--and Sabina believed
him and pitied him.

Winter had come very early to Mindelbau. By the end of October the
streets were banked waist-high with snow, and the greater number of the
"Cure Guests," sick unto death of cold water and herbs, had departed in
nothing approaching peace. So the large salon was shut at Lehmann's and
the breakfast-room was all the accommodation the cafe afforded. Here
the floor had to be washed over, the tables rubbed, coffee-cups set
out, each with its little china platter of sugar, and newspapers and
magazines hung on their hooks along the walls before Herr Lehmann
appeared at seven-thirty and opened business.

As a rule his wife served in the shop leading into the cafe, but she had
chosen the quiet season to have a baby, and, a big woman at the best of
times, she had grown so enormous in the process that her husband told
her she looked unappetising, and had better remain upstairs and sew.

Sabina took on the extra work without any thought of extra pay.
She loved to stand behind the counter, cutting up slices of Anna's
marvellous chocolate-spotted confections, or doing up packets of sugar
almonds in pink and blue striped bags.

"You'll get varicose veins, like me," said Anna. "That's what the Frau's
got, too. No wonder the baby doesn't come! All her swelling's got into
her legs." And Hans was immensely interested.

During the morning business was comparatively slack. Sabina answered the
shop bell, attended to a few customers who drank a liqueur to warm their
stomachs before the midday meal, and ran upstairs now and again to
ask the Frau if she wanted anything. But in the afternoon six or seven
choice spirits played cards, and everybody who was anybody drank tea or
coffee.

"Sabina... Sabina..."

She flew from one table to the other, counting out