They were both silent till the path joined the road.
“We must be in front of the others; it's nice to be in front—let's dawdle. I forgot—you never dawdle, Herr Harz.”
“After a big fit of work, I can dawdle against any one; then I get another fit of work—it's like appetite.”
“I'm always dawdling,” answered Christian.
By the roadside a peasant woman screwed up her sun-dried face, saying in a low voice: “Please, gracious lady, help me to lift this basket!”
Christian stooped, but before she could raise it, Harz hoisted it up on his back.
“All right,” he nodded; “this good lady doesn't mind.”
The woman, looking very much ashamed, walked along by Christian; she kept rubbing her brown hands together, and saying; “Gracious lady, I would not have wished. It is heavy, but I would not have wished.”
“I'm sure he'd rather carry it,” said Christian.
They had not gone far along the road, however, before the others passed them in a carriage, and at the strange sight Miss Naylor could be seen pursing her lips; Cousin Teresa nodding pleasantly; a smile on Dawney's face; and beside him Greta, very demure. Harz began to laugh.