r undecided in his own mind
whether he should join them or not Master Martin called to him, "Come
along, Conrad, come along, come along; you have borne yourself bravely
on the meadow; that's what I like in my journeymen, and it's what
becomes them. Don't be shy, lad; come and join us, you have my
permission." Conrad cast a withering glance at his master, who however
met it with a condescending nod; then the young journeyman said
moodily, "I am not the least bit shy of you, and I have not asked your
permission whether I may lie down here or not,--in fact, I have not
come to _you_ at all. All my opponents I have stretched in the sand in
the merry knightly sports, and all I now wanted was to ask this lovely
lady whether she would not honour me with the beautiful flowers she
wears in her bosom, as the prize of the chivalric contest." Therewith
he dropped upon one knee in front of Rose, and looked her straight and
honestly in the face with his clear brown eyes, and he begged, "O give
me those beautiful flowers, sweet Rose, as the prize of victory; you
cannot refuse me that." Rose at once took the flowers from her bosom
and gave them to him, laughing and saying, "Ay, I know well that a
brave knight like you deserves a token of honour from a lady; and so
here, you may have my withered flowers." Conrad kissed the flowers that
were given him, and then fastened them in his baretta; but Master
Martin, rising to his feet, cried, "There's another of your silly
tricks--come, let us be going home; it is getting dark." Herr Martin
strode on first; Conrad with modest courtly grace took Rose's arm;
whilst Reinhold and Frederick followed them considerably out of humour.
People who met them, stopped and turned round to look after them,
saying, "Marry, look now, look; that's the rich cooper Thomas Martin,
with his pretty little daughter and his stout journeymen. A fine set of
people I call them."

_Of Dame Martha's conversation with Rose about the three
journeymen, Conrad's quarrel with Master Martin._

Generally it is the morning following a holiday when young girls are
wont to enjoy all the pleasure of it, and taste it, and thoroughly
digest it; and this after celebration they seem to like far better than
the actual holiday itself. And so next morning pretty Rose sat alone in
her room with her hands folded on her lap, and her head bent slightly
forward in meditation--her spindle and embroidery meanwhile resting.
Probably