tall, smooth, thin and old, dressed in gray, whose head, as he stood,
reached the roof. The man could not have raised himself on tiptoe. The
caravan was just his size.

"Come in!" said the man, who was Ursus.

The child entered.

"Put down your bundle."

The child placed his burden carefully on the top of the chest, for fear
of awakening and terrifying it.

The man continued,--

"How gently you put it down! You could not be more careful were it a
case of relics. Is it that you are afraid of tearing a hole in your
rags? Worthless vagabond! in the streets at this hour! Who are you?
Answer! But no. I forbid you to answer. There! You are cold. Warm
yourself as quick as you can," and he shoved him by the shoulders in
front of the fire.

"How wet you are! You're frozen through! A nice state to come into a
house! Come, take off those rags, you villain!" and as with one hand,
and with feverish haste, he dragged off the boy's rags which tore into
shreds, with the other he took down from a nail a man's shirt, and one
of those knitted jackets which are up to this day called kiss-me-quicks.

"Here are clothes."