Gretchen could now be seen, wending her return in and out among the
clustering tables. She set the tankards down, and Carmichael put out a
silver crown.

"And do not bother about the change."

"Are all Americans rich?" she asked soberly. "Do you never keep the
change yourselves?"


[Illustration: "Are all Americans rich?" she asked, soberly.]


"Not when we are in our Sunday clothes."

"Then it is vanity." Gretchen shook her head wisely.

"Mine is worth only four coppers to-night," he said.

The vintner laughed pleasantly. Gretchen looked into his eyes, and an
echo found haven in her own.

Carmichael thirstily drank his first tankard, thinking: "So this vintner
is in love with our goose-girl? Confound my memory! It never failed me
like this before. I would give twenty crowns to know where I have seen
him. It's only the time and place that bothers me, not the face. A fine
beer," he said aloud, holding up the second tankard.

The vintner raised his; there was an unconscious grace in the movement.