"Well, Triddelsitz," said Habermann, when dinner was over, "now you can go to your room, and change your clothes, and put this smart riding-suit away where the moths will not get at it, for you won't need it again this two years. We don't ride much here, we go on foot, and if there is any riding to do, I do it myself, by the way."
Before long, Fritz re-appeared, with a pair of greased boots, short breeches, and a grass-green pilot-coat.
"That will do," said Habermann; "now come, and I will give you some instructions to begin with."
They went over the farm, and next morning Fritz Triddelsitz stood with seven of the farm laborers in the Rahnstadt road, and let the water out of the puddles,--an agreeable business, especially in November, with a drizzling rain all day long. "The devil!" said Fritz Triddelsitz, "farming isn't what I took it for!"
A couple of weeks after his arrival, Bräsig came riding into the yard, one Sunday noon. Fritz had by this time become so far subdued by Habermann, his monotonous work, and the everlasting rainy weather, that he began to comprehend his situation as an apprentice, and his natural good-heartedness made him ready for little services. So he started out of doors, to assist Bräsig down from his horse, but Bräsig screamed, "Don't come near me! Don't touch me! Don't come within ten feet of me! Tell Karl Habermann to come out."
Habermann came: "Bless you, Bräsig, why don't you get down?"
"Karl--no, don't touch me I just get me a soft chair, so that I can get down by degrees, and then bring a blanket or a sheepskin or something soft to spread under it, for I have got this confounded gout."
They did as he asked, spreading mats under the chair, and Bräsig crawled down from the horse, and hobbled into the house.
"Why didn't you send me word you were ill, Bräsig?" said Habermann. "I would gladly have gone to you."
"You can do nothing for me, Karl; but I couldn't stay in that confounded hole any longer. But what I was going to say is--I have given it up."