given me."

This altered matters. "Follow me," said Hoffman.

The two entered the office.

"Can you write?"

"A little, Herr."

"Then write your name on this piece of paper and that. Each night you
will present yours with the number of pounds, which will be credited to
you. You must bring it back each morning. If you lose it you will be
paid nothing for your labor."

Dietrich wrote his name twice. It was rather hard work, for he screwed
up his mouth and cramped his fingers. Still, Hoffman was not wholly
satisfied with his eyes.

"Gottlieb," he said to one of the men, "take him to terrace
ninety-eight. That hasn't been touched yet. We'll see what sort of
workman he is." He spoke to Dietrich again. "What is Gretchen to you?"
For Hoffman knew Gretchen; many a time she had filled her basket and
drawn her crowns.

"She is my sweetheart, Herr." And there was no mockery in the youth's
eyes as he said this.

"Take him along, Gottlieb. You will have no further use for this letter
from her highness, so I'll keep it and frame it and hang it in the
office." Which showed that Hoffman himself had had lessons in the gentle
art of mockery.

Terrace ninety-eight was given over to small grapes; thus, many bunches
had to be picked to fill the basket. But Dietrich went to work with a
will. His fingers were deft and his knife was sharp; and by midsun he
had turned his sixth basket, which was fair work, considering.

As Hoffman did not feed his employees, Dietrich was obliged to beg from
his co-workers. Very willingly they shared with him their coarse bread
and onions. He ate the bread and stuffed the onions in his pocket. There
was no idling. As soon as the frugal meal was over, the peasants trooped
away to their respective terraces. Once more the youth was alone. He set
down his basket and laughed. Was there ever such a fine world? Had there
ever been a more likable adventure? The very danger of it was the spice
which gave it flavor. He stretched out his arms as if to embrace this
world which appeared so rosal, so joyous to his imagination.

"Thanks, thanks! You have given me youth, and I accept it," he said
aloud, perhaps addressing that mutable goddess who presides over all
follies. "Regret it in my old age? Not I! I shall have lived for one
short month. Youth was given to us to enjoy, and I propose to press the
grape to the final drop. And when I grow old this adventure shall be the
tonic to wipe out many wrinkles of ca