She wiped her face with her naked arm. "I'm a good climber," she said, looking up at him for a moment with blinking eyes.
"Doesn't the water freeze you? So late in the year, too!"
She made some response that he did not understand. He was curious to see how she would clamber up the steep declivity with her burden, so remained where he was and continued to watch her.
In a few minutes she packed up her washing and climbed on the bank. The moonlight cast a flashing halo round the masses of her hair, which to-day had been combed till it was almost smooth. She looked as if she wore a coronet. With one shy glance to ascertain that he was still standing there, she dived into the shrubs, and he saw her dart rapidly from branch to branch with the agility of a wild-cat. At the top she let down her skirts, and would have flown with her basket, had he not called her back.
"Why do you do your washing at night?" he inquired, making an effort to look friendly disposed towards her.
"Because in the daytime they give me no peace."
"The villagers?"
"Yes, Herr."
"What do they do to you?"
"What they always do--throw things at me."