“He will not dare,” returned Gretchen.  “We have done nothing wrong.  Her highness will stand by us.  It must be five o’clock,” looking at the sun.

“In that case, no more work for the day.”

He swung the basket to his shoulder, and the sun, flashing upon its contents, turned the bloomy globes into dull rubies.  He presented his card at the office and was duly credited with three crowns, which, according to Gretchen, was a fine day’s work.  Hoffman said nothing about dismissal.

“Come day after to-morrow; to-morrow is a feast-day.  You are always having feast-days when work begins.  All summer long you loaf about, but the minute you start to work you must find excuses to lay off.  Clear out, both of you!”

“Work at last,” said Dietrich, as he and Gretchen started for the city.  “If I can get a position in the brewery for the winter I shall be rich.”

“Oh, the beautiful world!”

“Do you recall the first day I met you?” he asked.

“Yes.  A little more and that dog would have killed the big gander.  What little things bring about big ones!  When I walked into the city that day, had any one told me that I should fall in love, I should have laughed.”

“And I!”

Arm in arm they went on.  Sometimes Gretchen sang; often he put her hand to his lips.  By and by they came abreast of an old Gipsy.  He wore a coat of Joseph’s, and his face was as lined as a frost-bitten apple.  But his eyes were keen and undimmed, and he walked confidently and erect, like a man who has always lived in the open.

“Will you tell me how to find the Adlergasse?” he asked in broken German.  His accent was that of a Magyar.  He had a smattering of a dozen tongues at his command, for in his time he had crossed and recrossed the Danube, the Rhine, and the Rhone.

They carelessly gave him specific directions and passed on.  He followed grimly, like fate, whose agent he was, though long delayed.  When he reached the Adlergasse he looked for a sign.  He came to a stop in front of the dingy shop of the clock-mender.  He went inside, and the ancient clock-mender looked up from his work, for he was always working.

He rose wearily and asked what he could do for his customer.  His eyes were bothering him, so the fact that the man was a Gipsy did not at first impress him.

The Gipsy smiled mysteriously and laid a hand on his heart.

“Who are you?” sharply demanded the clock-mender.

“Who I am does not matter.  I am he whom you seek.”

“God in Heaven!” The bony hands of the clock-mender shot out and clutched the other’s coat in a grip which shook, so intense was it.  The Gipsy released himself slowly.  “But first show me your pretty crowns and the paper which will give me immunity from the police.  I know something about you.  You never break your word.  That is why I came.  Your crowns, as you offered, and immunity; then I speak.”