“Never mind! I have enough left for myself,” she answered.
And when he made no effort to take it, she laid it on the ground close to him. “You must be thirsty, too,” she continued. “I will get you a drink of water; there is a good spring a little higher up.” She arose, picked up a broken jug that was lying between the stones, and climbed to a place above the quarry, where some fir trees were growing and a small stream of water trickled from under the moss. She filled the jug, drank, filled it again, and returned. George had not yet touched the bread, but accepted the water gladly and gratefully.
“But now you must eat,” she urged him, sitting down again. “You needn’t hesitate to take it from me.”
With rather a shamefaced manner he reached for the bread. “I suppose you have gone through a great deal of suffering or you wouldn’t be so kind,” he said, without looking at her, and, breaking off a small piece of the bread, he began to eat.
“Indeed, I have. Even now I know often enough what it means to go without food.”
He felt as if he could not swallow his piece of bread. “Even now?” he asked after a while. “Do they pay so badly for work here?”
“I don’t receive any pay at all.”
“Why? What does that mean?”
“The foreman keeps my wages.”
“The foreman keeps your wages?”