He obeyed her, anxiously trying to occupy as little room as possible; he put his knapsack under his head, used his coat as a cover, and with a heavy sigh settled himself to sleep. Tertschka lighted a small oil lamp and, crouching near the hearth, took up her sewing again. At last she put the needle away and examined the blouse closely. Satisfied with her completed task, she blew out the smoking lamp and lay down near the hearth for the night, just as she was. Outside the summer night was filling everything with fragrance, and down through the opening in the roof the twinkling stars were shining into the dark room, the stillness of which was broken only by the breathing of the sleepers.
With the first signs of dawn, life began to stir in the house, and George awakened. He watched the men leave their crude beds, looking for the tools that had been left leaning against the wall; then they left the house. He, too, had risen, put on his coat, and now waited anxiously, not knowing what to do. Tertschka, carrying a heavy hammer with a very long handle over her shoulder, said: “The foreman is still asleep, but I know what your work is to be. Take that other hammer, and, if you like, you may go with me.” Together they went out into the open air. It was cool and still; now and then a bird sang; the meadows glittered with dew. Silently the two walked to the road, and then along the tracks to an old stone quarry; here they found some of the men already at work, while others were busy at the tracks with carts and shovels. Tertschka went up a little higher with George until they reached a hollow. “This is my place,” she said, sitting down on the ground in the midst of stones and gravel. “I do not like to stay with the others; they are unruly and malicious. But you may stay here, if you like.” Without answering, he sat down. “You see, all these broken stones have to be crushed into small pieces.” And, pointing to a pile of them, she added: “All that I have done this week.” He pulled a large limestone toward him and dealt it a blow with his hammer; the stone did not break. “Strike harder,” said Tertschka; and she herself made the stones fly in all directions by her blows. He looked at her in astonishment and tried his strength once more. This time he had better success, so the two were soon eagerly at work without speaking at all.
The view from the place where they sat was wonderful and extensive, showing the gigantic heights and deep valleys of the mountain range. Quite close to the tracks and on a level with the road, the ruins of Castle Klamm could be seen, clinging to the rocks like an eagle’s nest. Down below in the narrow valley lay the small town of Schottwien with its red roofs. Behind towered the Sonnwendstein, and at its foot, on green meadows and surrounded by trees, stood the little church, called “Maria Schutz.” But those two busy people had no glance for the exquisite picture; with heads bent to the ground, they hammered and hammered incessantly, eagerly, dully. The sun climbed higher and began to shine burning hot on their heads. George’s blows grew weaker and weaker; at last he dropped the hammer, took off his cap, and wiped his brow, on which the perspiration stood in large drops. Tertschka stopped for a moment, too, and looked at him kindly. “Are you tired already?” she asked.
“God knows, I am,” he said, almost inaudibly; “the fever has weakened me more than I thought.”
“But why did you come here, if you are so sick and faint?” she asked.
“What else could I do? Go begging? Never! I did not learn a trade, for my father and mother died when I was a small child; so I had to mind the geese and later the cows in our village until I was eighteen years old. None of the peasants ever hired me for work; I was not strong enough. The recruiting officers thought differently; they took me and put me into the white coat, saying: ‘He is good enough to run along in the second rank.’ Then when I was sick and miserable they sent me home. For a time the home parish took care of me. Then they, too, sent me away to work—to crush stones up here. Well, I do crush stones,” he concluded, and a bitter smile passed over his face as he again took up the hammer.
She had listened quietly; and now very gently she said: “You can never stand such work!”
“Perhaps I can, if I could only get something to eat. I have had bad luck lately, and since yesterday morning I have not had a morsel to eat.”
She did not answer immediately, but took out a piece of black rye bread, which she had wrapped into her apron, broke it and gave him the larger piece. “Eat that!” she said.
He looked at it. “But that is yours, and you need it,” he said, gently declining it.