We came to the vicarage on a Saturday. After much doubting, Grindhusen had
at last agreed to take me as his mate. I had bought provisions and some
working clothes, and stood there now, in blouse and high boots, ready to
start work. I was free and unknown; I learned to walk with a long,
slouching stride, and for the look of a laboring man, I had that already
both in face and hands. We were to put up at the vicarage itself, and cook
our food in the brew-house across the yard.

And so we started on our digging.

I did my share of the work, and Grindhusen had no fault to find with me as
a work-mate. "You'll turn out a first-rate hand at this, after all," he
said.

Then after we'd been working a bit, the priest came out to look, and we
took off our hats. He was an oldish man, quiet and gentle in his ways and
speech; tiny wrinkles spread out fanwise from the corners of his eyes,
like the traces of a thousand kindly smiles. He was sorry to interrupt,
and hoped we wouldn't mind--but they'd so much trouble every year with the
fowls slipping through into the garden. Could we leave the well just for a
little, and come round and look at the garden wall? There was one place in
particular....

Grindhusen answered: surely; we'd manage that for him all right.

So we went up and set the crumbling wall to rights. While we were busy
there a young lady came out and stood looking on. We greeted her politely,
and I thought her a beautiful creature to see. Then a half-grown lad came
out to look, and asked all sorts of questions. The two were brother and