"Yes, Master Adam. He won't bear shoeing, yet he's very valuable. We
have nothing to equal him. None of us can control him, but you formerly
zounds!....you haven't grown younger in the last few years either, Adam!
Put on your cap; you've lost your hair. Your forehead reaches down to
your neck, but your vigor has remained. Do you remember how you cleft
the anvil at Rodebach?"

"Let that pass," replied Adam--not angrily, but firmly. "I'll shoe the
horse early to-morrow; it's too late to-day."

"I thought so!" cried the other, clasping his hands excitedly. "You know
how we stand towards the citizens on account of the tolls on the bridges.
I'd rather lie on thorns than enter the miserable hole. The stable down
below is large enough! Haven't you a heap of straw for a poor brother in
Christ? I need nothing more; I've brought food with me."

The smith lowered his eyes in embarrassment. He was not hospitable.
No stranger had rested under his roof, and everything that disturbed his
seclusion was repugnant to him. Yet he could not refuse; so he answered
coldly: "I live alone here with my boy, but if you wish, room can be
made."

The monk accepted as eagerly, as if he had been cordially invited; and
after the horses and groom were supplied with shelter, followed his host
into the sitting-room next the shop, and placed his saddle-bags on the
table.

"This is all right," he said, laughing, as he produced a roast fowl and
some white bread. "But how about the wine? I need something warm inside