“What else could I do? Go begging? _Never!_ I did not learn a trade, for my father and mother died when I was a small child; so I had to mind the geese and later the cows in our village until I was eighteen years old. None of the peasants ever hired me for work; I was not strong enough. The recruiting officers thought differently; they took me and put me into the white coat, saying: ‘He is good enough to run along in the second rank.’ Then when I was sick and miserable they sent me home. For a time the home parish took care of me. Then they, too, sent me away to work--to crush stones up here. Well, I do crush stones,” he concluded, and a bitter smile passed over his face as he again took up the hammer. She had listened quietly; and now very gently she said: “You can never stand such work!” “Perhaps I can, if I could only get something to eat. I have had bad luck lately, and since yesterday morning I have not had a morsel to eat.” She did not answer immediately, but took out a piece of black rye bread, which she had wrapped into her apron, broke it and gave him the larger piece. “Eat that!” she said. He looked at it. “But that is yours, and you need it,” he said, gently declining it. “Never mind! I have enough left for myself,” she answered. And when he made no effort to take it, she laid it on the ground close to him. “You must be thirsty, too,” she continued. “I will get you a drink of water; there is a good spring a little higher up.” She arose, picked up a broken jug that was lying between the stones, and climbed to a place above the quarry, where some fir trees were growing and a small stream of water trickled from under the moss. She filled the jug, drank, filled it again, and returned. George had not yet touched the bread, but accepted the water gladly and gratefully. “But now you must eat,” she urged him, sitting down again. “You needn’t hesitate to take it from me.” With rather a shamefaced manner he reached for the bread. “I suppose you have gone through a great deal of suffering or you wouldn’t be so kind,” he said, without looking at her, and, breaking off a small piece of the bread, he began to eat. “Indeed, I have. Even now I know often enough what it means to go without food.” He felt as if he could not swallow his piece of bread. “Even now?” he asked after a while. “Do they pay so badly for work here?” “I don’t receive any pay at all.” “Why? What does that mean?” “The foreman keeps my wages.” “The foreman keeps your wages?” “Yes, he is my stepfather.” “Your stepfather?” he repeated, quite stupefied with astonishment. “Yes; my own father met with an accident and died when I was very young; he was killed by some falling timber and earth. After his death my mother stayed with the foreman, who was at that time a dike laborer like my own father; they were working together in Bohemia.”