g to drink. What it
would be like to have a glass of something stronger than cider was a
thing he did not even dare to think about.

Stooping and languid, he made his way down to the house at
supper-time, and took his seat ill-humoredly at the table. There was
soup, bread, and onions, and he ate grimly as long as there was
anything on his plate; but there was nothing to drink. After the meal
he sat still disconsolately and did not know what to be at. Nothing to
drink, nothing to smoke, no one to gossip with! For the weaver was
working busily by lamplight, paying no attention to him.

Huerlin sat for a half hour at the empty table, listening to the click
of Sauberle's machine and staring at the yellow flame of the hanging
lamp, until he sank into an abyss of discontent, self-pity, envy,
hatred and malice from which he neither sought nor found any way of
escape. At last his silent anger and hopelessness grew too much for
him. He raised his fist and brought it down on the table with a bang,
rolling out a good German oath.

"Here!" said the weaver, coming over to him. "What's the matter with
you? No cursing allowed where I am."

"Well, what in the devil's name am I to do?"

"Oh, you find the evening long? Then go to bed."

"There you are again! People send little children to bed at a certain
time--not me!"

"Then I'll get a little work for you."

"Work? You're too free with your tyranny, you old slave-driver!"

"Come, keep cool! But there--there's something for you to read." He put
out a couple of volumes from the thinly-furnished shelves that hung on
the wall, and went back to his work. Huerlin had no inclination to read,
but he took one of the books in his hand and opened it. It was an
almanac, and he began to look at the pictures. The first was a
fantastically dressed ideal woman's figure depicted as an ornament for
the title-page, with bare feet and flowing locks. Huerlin remembered
that he had a stump of lead-pencil in his pocket. He took it out, wet
it in his mouth, and drew two large round breasts on the woman's
bodice, which he continued to emphasize, wetting his pencil again and
again, until the paper was almost worn through. Then he turned the page
and saw with satisfaction that the impress of his artistic design had
gone through several other pages. The next picture on which he came
illustrated a fairy-story, and represented a kobold or some malicious
spirit with evil eyes, a fierce moustache and a hug