"And how are you?"
"How should I be?"--Then he begins fumbling about at a sack of flour, tying and untying the string with his bony fingers; then when he has made sure that he is no longer wanted, he withdraws once more into his dark corner.
Martin's face beams. "There's a faithful soul for you, Johannes--28 years of service, eh! And always industrious and conscientious."
"By the bye, what does he do?"
Martin looks confused. "Well--look here--eh--hard to say--position of trust--eh--faithful soul, faithful soul."
"Does the faithful soul still occasionally prig something from the flour-sacks?" asks Johannes laughing.
Martin shrugs his shoulders impatiently and mutters something about "28 years of service," and closing an eye.
"He seems still to owe me a grudge," says Johannes, "for having discovered the hiding place to which he had carried his hardly-stolen little hoard."
"You will persist in being prejudiced against him," answers Martin, "just like Trude too--you are unjust towards him,--most unjust."
Johannes laughingly shakes his head; then he points to a door leading to a newly erected partition.