spend some long summer Sunday, he always
brings the flute, and plays, as I told you in the beginning of the
story.

When the summer days are over, what comes next? You do not surely
forget the autumn, when the leaves of the maples turn crimson and
yellow, and the oaks are red and brown, and you scuff your feet along
the path ankle-deep in fallen leaves!

On the banks of the Rhine the autumn is not quite like ours. You shall
see how our children of the great house will spend an autumn day.

Their father and mother have promised to go with them to the vineyards
as soon as the grapes are ripe enough for gathering, and on this sunny
September morning the time has really come.

In the great covered baskets are slices of bread and German sausage,
bottles of milk and of beer, and plenty of fresh and delicious prunes,
for the prune orchards are loaded with ripe fruit. This is their
dinner, for they will not be home until night.

Oh, what a charming day for the children! Little Gretchen is rolling
in the grass with delight, while Louise runs to bring her own little
basket, in which to gather grapes.

They must ride in the broad old family carriage, for the little ones
cannot walk so far; but, when they reach the river, they will take a
boat with white sails, and go down to where the steep steps and path
lead up on the other side, up the sunny green bank to the vineyard,
where already the peasant girls have been at work ever since sunrise.
Here the grapes are hanging in heavy, purple clusters; the sun has
warmed them through and through, and made them sweet to the very
heart. Oh, how delicious they are, and how beautiful they look, heaped
up in the tall baskets, which the girls and women are carrying on
their heads! How the children watch these peasant-girls, all dressed
in neat little jackets, and many short skirts one above another, red
and blue, white and green. On their heads are the baskets of grapes,
and they never drop nor spill them, but carry them steadily down the
steep, narrow path to the great vats, where the young men stand on
short ladders to reach the top, and pour in the purple fruit. Then
the grapes are crushed till the purple juice runs out, and that is
wine,--such wine as even the children may drink in their little silver
cups, for it is even better than milk. You may be sure that they have
some at dinner-time, when they cluster round the flat rock below the
dark stone castle, with the warm noonday sun