to the hotels. They have all
fine livers"--lightly touching a goose with her willow stick.

"What, the hotels?"--humorously.

"No, no, my geese!"

"What was that song you were singing before the horses came up?"

"That? It was from the poet Heine"--simply.

He stared at her with a rudeness not at all intentional.

"Heine? Can you read?"

"Yes, Herr."

The other walked along beside her in silence. After all, why not? Why
should he be surprised? From one end of the world to the other printer's
ink was spreading and bringing light. But a goose-girl who read Heine!

"And the music?" he inquired presently.

"That is mine"--with the first sign of diffidence. "Melodies are always
running through my head. Sometimes they make me forget things I ought to
remember."

"Your own music? An impresario will be discovering you some fine day,
and your fortune will be made."

The light irony did not escape her. "I am only a goose-girl."

He felt disarmed. "What is your name?"

"Gretchen."

"What else?"

"Nothing else"--wistfully. "I never knew any father or mother."

"So?" This was easier for the other to understand. "But who taught you
to read?"

"A priest. Once I lived in the mountains, at an inn. He used to come in
evenings, when the snow was not too deep. He taught me to read and
write, and many things besides. I know that Italy has all the works of
art; that France has the most interesting history; that Germany has all
the philosophers, and America all the money," adding a smile. "I should
like to see America. Sometimes I find a newspaper, and I read it all
through."

"History?"

"A little, and geography."

"With all this wide learning you ought to be something better than a
tender of geese."

"It is honest work, and that is good."

"I meant nothing wrong, _Kindchen_. But you would find it easier in a
milliner's shop, as a lady's maid, something of that order."

"With these?"--holding out her hands.

"It would not take long to whiten them. Do you live alone?"

"No. I live with my foster-mother, who is very old. I call her
grandmother. She took me in when I was a foundling; now I am taking care
of her. She has always been good to me. And what might your name be?"

"Ludwig."

"Ludwig what?"--inquisitive in her turn.

"Oh, the other does not matter. I am a mountaineer from Jugendheit."

"Jugendheit?" She paused to look at him more closely. "We are not
friendly with your country."

"More's the p