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〃It's my country up there。 I was born amongst the mountains。 I
looked after the cows； and slept in hay…cocks； and cut the trees in
winter。 They used to call me a 'black sheep；' a 'loafer' in my
village。〃
〃Why？〃
〃Ah！ why？ I worked as hard as any of them。 But I wanted to get
away。 Do you think I could have stayed there all my life？〃
Christian's eyes grew eager。
〃If people don't understand what it is you want to do； they always
call you a loafer！〃 muttered Harz。
〃But you did what you meant to do in spite of them；〃 Christian said。
For herself it was so hard to finish or decide。 When in the old days
she told Greta stories； the latter； whose instinct was always for the
definite； would say： 〃And what came at the end； Chris？ Do finish it
this morning！〃 but Christian never could。 Her thoughts were deep；
vague； dreamy； invaded by both sides of every question。 Whatever she
did； her needlework； her verse…making； her painting； all had its
charm； but it was not always what it was intended for at the
beginning。 Nicholas Treffry had once said of her： 〃When Chris starts
out to make a hat； it may turn out an altar…cloth； but you may bet it
won't be a hat。〃 It was her instinct to look for what things meant；
and this took more than all her time。 She knew herself better than
most girls of nineteen； but it was her reason that had informed her；
not her feelings。 In her sheltered life； her heart had never been
ruffled except by rare fits of passion〃tantrums〃 old Nicholas
Treffry dubbed themat what seemed to her mean or unjust。
〃If I were a man；〃 she said； 〃and going to be great； I should have
wanted to begin at the very bottom as you did。〃
〃Yes；〃 said Harz quickly； 〃one should be able to feel everything。〃
She did not notice how simply he assumed that he was going to be
great。 He went on； a smile twisting his mouth unpleasantly beneath
its dark moustache
〃Not many people think like you！ It's a crime not to have been born a
gentleman。〃
〃That's a sneer；〃 said Christian； 〃I didn't think you would have
sneered！〃
〃It is true。 What is the use of pretending that it isn't？〃
〃It may be true； but it is finer not to say it！〃
〃By Heavens！〃 said Harz； striking one hand into the other； 〃if more
truth were spoken there would not be so many shams。〃
Christian looked down at him from her seat on the stile。
〃You are right all the same； Fraulein Christian；〃 he added suddenly；
〃that's a very little business。 Work is what matters； and trying to
see the beauty in the world。〃
Christian's face changed。 She understood； well enough； this craving
after beauty。 Slipping down from the stile； she drew a slow deep
breath。
〃Yes！〃 she said。 Neither spoke for some time； then Harz said shyly：
〃If you and Fraulein Greta would ever like to come and see my studio；
I should be so happy。 I would try and clean it up for you！〃
〃I should like to come。 I could learn something。 I want to learn。〃
They were both silent till the path joined the road。
〃We must be in front of the others； it's nice to be in frontlet's
dawdle。 I forgotyou never dawdle； Herr Harz。〃
〃After a big fit of work； I can dawdle against any one； then I get
another fit of workit's like appetite。〃
〃I'm always dawdling；〃 answered Christian。
By the roadside a peasant woman screwed up her sun…dried face； saying
in a low voice： 〃Please； gracious lady； help me to lift this basket！〃
Christian stooped； but before she could raise it； Harz hoisted it up
on his back。
〃All right；〃 he nodded； 〃this good lady doesn't mind。〃
The woman； looking very much ashamed； walked along by Christian； she
kept rubbing her brown hands together； and saying； 〃Gracious lady； I
would not have wished。 It is heavy； but I would not have wished。〃
〃I'm sure he'd rather carry it；〃 said Christian。
They had not gone far along the road； however； before the others
passed them in a carriage； and at the strange sight Miss Naylor could
be seen pursing her lips； Cousin Teresa nodding pleasantly； a smile
on Dawney's face； and beside him Greta； very demure。 Harz began to
laugh。
〃What are you laughing at？〃 asked Christian。
〃You English are so funny。 You mustn't do this here； you mustn't do
that there； it's like sitting in a field of nettles。 If I were to
walk with you without my coat； that little lady would fall off her
seat。〃 His laugh infected Christian； they reached the station
feeling that they knew each other better。
The sun had dipped behind the mountains when the little train steamed
down the valley。 All were subdued； and Greta； with a nodding head；
slept fitfully。 Christian； in her corner； was looking out of the
window； and Harz kept studying her profile。
He tried to see her eyes。 He had remarked indeed that； whatever
their expression； the brows； arched and rather wide apart； gave them
a peculiar look of understanding。 He thought of his picture。 There
was nothing in her face to seize on； it was too sympathetic； too much
like light。 Yet her chin was firm； almost obstinate。
The train stopped with a jerk； she looked round at him。 It was as
though she had said： 〃You are my friend。〃
At Villa Rubein； Herr Paul had killed the fatted calf for Greta's
Fest。 When the whole party were assembled； he alone remained
standing； and waving his arm above the cloth； cried： 〃My dears！ Your
happiness！ There are good things hereCome！〃 And with a sly look；
the air of a conjurer producing rabbits； he whipped the cover off the
soup tureen：
〃Soup…turtle； fat； green fat！〃 He smacked his lips。
No servants were allowed； because； as Greta said to Harz：
〃It is that we are to be glad this evening。〃
Geniality radiated from Herr Paul's countenance； mellow as a bowl of
wine。 He toasted everybody； exhorting them to pleasure。
Harz passed a cracker secretly behind Greta's head； and Miss Naylor；
moved by a mysterious impulse； pulled it with a sort of gleeful
horror； it exploded； and Greta sprang off her chair。 Scruff； seeing
this； appeared suddenly on the sideboard with his forelegs in a plate
of soup； without moving them； he turned his head； and appeared to
accuse the company of his false position。 It was the signal for
shrieks of laughter。 Scruff made no attempt to free his forelegs；
but sniffed the soup； and finding that nothing happened； began to lap
it。
〃Take him out！ Oh！ take him out！〃 wailed Greta； 〃he shall be ill！〃
〃Allons！ Mon cher！〃 cried Herr Paul； 〃c'est magnifique； mais； vous
savez； ce nest guere la guerre！〃 Scruff； with a wild spring； leaped
past him to the ground。
〃Ah！〃 cried Miss Naylor； 〃the carpet！〃 Fresh moans of mirth shook
the table； for having tasted the wine of laughter； all wanted as much
more as they could get。 When Scruff and his traces were effaced；
Herr Paul took a ladle in his hand。
〃I have a toast；〃 he said； waving it for silence； 〃a toast we will
drink all together from our hearts； the toast of my little daughter；
who to…day has thirteen years become； and there is also in our
hearts；〃 he continued； putting down the ladle and suddenly becoming
grave； 〃the thought of one who is not today with us to see this
joyful occasion； to her； too； in this our happiness we turn our
hearts and glasses because it is her joy that we should yet be
joyful。 I drink to my little daughter； may God her shadow bless！〃
All stood up； clinking their glasses； and drank： then； in the hush
that followed； Greta； according to custom； began to sing a German
carol； at the end of the fourth line she stopped； abashed。
Heir Paul blew his nose loudly； and； taking up a cap that had fallen
from a cracker； put it on。
Every one followed his example； Miss Naylor attaining the distinction
of a pair of donkey's ears； which she wore； after another glass of
wine； with an air of sacrificing to the public good。
At the end of supper came the moment for the offering of gifts。 Herr
Paul had tied a handkerchief over Greta's eyes； and one by one they
brought her presents。 Greta； under forfeit of a kiss； was bound to
tell the giver by the feel of the gift。 Her swift； supple little
hands explored noiselessly； and in every case she guessed right。
Dawney's present； a kitten； made a scene by clawing at her hair。
〃That is Dr。 Edmund's；〃 she cried at once。 Christian saw that Harz
had disappeared； but suddenly he came back breathless； and took his
place at the end of the rank of givers。
Advancing on tiptoe； he put his present into Greta's hands。 It was a
small bronze copy of a Donatello statue。
〃Oh； Herr Harz！〃 cried Greta； 〃I saw it in the studio that day。 It
stood on the table； and it is lovely。〃
Mrs。 Decie； thrusting her pale eyes close to it； murmured：
〃Charming！〃
Mr。 Treffry took it in his forgers。
〃Rum little toad！ Cost a pot of money；