board. The dust and fatigue were, however, unmistakable.

"Who sent you to me, anyway?" he grumbled.

"Oh, I do not know," was the half-impatient answer; "the man I
lodged with in Dantzig or another, I forget. It was Koch the
locksmith in the Schmiedegasse. See, I have money. I tell you it
is for one night. Say yes or no. I want to get to bed and to
sleep."

"How much do you pay?"

"A thaler--if you like. Among friends, one is willing to pay."

After a short minute of hesitation the shoemaker opened the door
wider and came out.

"And there will be another thaler for the horse, which I shall have
to take to the stable of the wood-merchant at the corner. Go into
the workshop and sit down till I come."

He stood in the doorway and watched the soldier seat himself wearily
on a bench in the workshop among the ancient boots, past repair, one
would think, and lean his head against the wall.

He was half asleep already, and the bootmaker, who was lame,
shrugged his shoulders as he led away the tired horse, with a
gesture half of pity, half of doubting suspicion. Had it suggested
itself to his mind, and had it been within the power of one so halt
and heavy-footed to turn back noiselessly, he would have found his