of the room.

"Who are you, sir?" demanded Schwartz, turning upon him. "What's
your business?" snarled Hans.

"I'm a poor old man, sir," the little gentleman began very
modestly, "and I saw your fire through the window and begged
shelter for a quarter of an hour."

"Have the goodness to walk out again, then," said Schwartz.
"We've quite enough water in our kitchen without making it a
drying house."

"It is a cold day to turn an old man out in, sir; look at my gray
hairs." They hung down to his shoulders, as I told you before.

"Aye!" said Hans; "there are enough of them to keep you warm.
Walk!"

"I'm very, very hungry, sir; couldn't you spare me a bit of bread
before I go?"

"Bread, indeed!" said Schwartz; "do you suppose we've nothing to
do with our bread but to give it to such red-nosed fellows as
you?"

"Why don't you sell your feather?" said Hans sneeringly. "Out
with you!"

"A little bit," said the old gentleman.