“Oho, Mr. Schmitz, you do me great injustice there,” replied the old peasant proudly.  “God knows what pleasure it gives me to sit down of a winter evening and read the chronicles and histories, and you yourself know that I treat the sword of Carolus Magnus (the old man pronounced the second syllable long), which has now for a thousand years and more been in the possession of the Oberhof, as I do the apple of my eye, and consequently—­”

“The sword of Charles the Great!” exclaimed the Collector scornfully.  “Friend, is it impossible to get these notions out of your head?  Listen—­”

“I say and maintain that it is the genuine and actual sword of Carolus Magnus with which he here at the Oberhof located and established the ‘Freemen’s Tribunal.’  And even today the sword still performs and fulfils its office, although nothing further may be said about it.”  The old man uttered these words with an expression on his features and a gesture which had something sublime in them.

“And I say and maintain that all that is sheer nonsense!” exclaimed the Collector with emphasis.  “I have examined the old toasting-iron no less than a hundred times, and it isn’t five hundred years old!  It comes down perhaps from the time of the feud of Soest, when very likely one of the Archbishop’s cavalrymen crawled into the bushes here and left it.”

“The devil take you!” cried the Justice, pounding his fist on the table.  Then he mumbled softly to himself “Just wait; you’ll get your punishment for that this very day!”

The servant came out of the door.  He was carrying a terra-cotta jug with a rather large circumference and a strange, exotic appearance, gripping it firmly and carefully by the handles with both hands.

“Oh!” cried the Collector, when he had obtained a closer view of it.  “What a splendid large amphora!  Where did it come from?”

The Justice replied with an air of indifference:  “Oh, I found the old jug in the ditch a week ago when we were digging out gravel.  There was a lot more stuff around there, but the men smashed it all to pieces with their picks.  This jug was the only thing they spared, and, inasmuch as you are here, I wanted you to see it.”

The Collector looked at the large, well-preserved vessel with moist eyes.  Finally he stammered:  “Can’t we strike a bargain for it?”

“No,” replied the peasant coldly.  “I’ll keep the pot for myself.”  He motioned to the servant, and the latter started to carry the amphora back into the house.  He was prevented from doing so, however, by the Collector, who, without turning his eyes away from it, besought its owner with all kinds of lively arguments to turn the longed-for wine-jug over to him.  But it was all in vain; the Justice, in the face of the most urgent entreaties, maintained an attitude of unshakable composure.  In this way he formed the motionless centre-figure of the group, of which the peasants, listening to the business with open mouths, the servant