ave here."

At this point Fausch stopped working. "Where is it then?" he asked
slowly.

"The smith at the hospice among the mountains over toward Italy is
dead," the trader answered. "The landlord is not satisfied with the
apprentice whom the smith left behind. He wants to rent the blacksmith
shop again. One can make good money up there."

Fausch did not wait to hear the end of the sentence. He heated the tire
and hammered it till the sparks flew. But his thoughts were working
harder than his hammer. At the same time he saw how the trader turned
from him to the boy, with whom he began to talk. He also saw the
expression of Hallheimer's face, while he was talking with Cain.
Everybody wore exactly, the same expression when they were looking at
Cain: it was composed of surprise at his personal appearance and a more
or less well concealed curiosity. Often a malicious joy was mingled
with this look. Fausch had come to have a keen eye for people's
bearing, and he knew that Cain was equally observant. While the trader
was talking to him, a painful flush, from time to time, would pass over
the young man's face, which was still as fair and smooth as when he was
a boy. He was ashamed. And it was always so; whenever people stared at
him he was overcome by this painful sense of shame.

Hallheimer now put an end to the interview. "'Well--Good-by, Fausch,"
said he, "I'll be jogging along."

"Good-by!" said the smith. But as the other turned toward his wagon,
Fausch came slowly and clumsily out of the workshop and motioned to
him. The trader's horse had already started. Hallheimer reined him in
sharply. Fausch came over to him and leaned his blackened arms on the
rack of the wagon.

"I might like the smithy up there," he said.

The tradesman's instinct awoke in Hallheimer. He became so animated,
that his gestures were as eloquent as his speech. "You're not
determined to stay here for good and all? You will do a good business,
really you will make a success, Fausch."

Each word led to another. They talked together for a long time. As
Hallheimer was bidding farewell, he said: "I will write to the landlord
of the tavern. I will write at once, you may rely upon me. I'll bring
you the answer one of these days."

"Very well," said Stephen Fausch. His face did not betray his thoughts.
When he went back to the workshop, he was very taciturn with Cain. It
was plainly to be seen, that he was wholly taken up with his thoughts.

Cain