Gretchen was fond of them; they needed no care at all.

The moment she had milked them they went tinkling off to the steep pastures.
Even in midsummer the dawn was chill in Dreiberg.

She blew on her fingers.

The fire was down to the last ember; so she went into the cluttered courtyard and broke into pieces one of the limbs she had carried up from the valley earlier in the season.

The fire renewed its cheerful crackle, the kettle boiled briskly, and the frugal breakfast was under way.
There was daily one cup of coffee, but neither Gretchen nor her grandmother claimed this luxury; it was for the sick woman on the third floor.