“Oh, we have come to a swamp,” cried Fritz.  “Halt! my shoes are full of water.  Now one of them has come off, and is sticking in the mud.”

“Here it is,” said Paul as he pulled it out, “take it and put it on.”

“But I can’t stand and put it on.  What shall I do?”

“You cannot sit down in the swamp, that is certain.  Here, Franz, do you get on one side of him and I on the other and we will hold him up while he puts it on.  Now, Fritz, hurry.”

Fritz took his shoe, shook out the water, and tried his best to make it go on, but without success.  His comrades on either side put out a helping hand, but lost their balance, and all three sat down suddenly in the swamp.

“Now we are wet in the only place we were dry,” exclaimed Paul.

“Yes,” comforted Fritz, “but my shoe is on, so it is well that we did sit down.”

“But there was no need for us all to sit down.  If you had taken a seat at first, we could have kept dry.”

“But see! the light is still there.  Let us hurry.  Oh, how glad I am to know that we will see people.”

They soon reached a small, dark cabin, old and dilapidated, yet it was shelter; and they rejoiced that they had found it.  As they neared it, they smelled the welcome odor of frying sausage.

The only light that came through the one little window was from the small fire on the hearth and in this dim light the boys saw two figures bending over the fire, and one by the door, which stood slightly ajar.

Only a few more steps and they were up to the door, and there stood the butcher-boy with knife in hand.  Fritz felt that the knife was already at his throat.  He fell back upon Franz, and Franz upon Paul, and they were about to flee.

“Here are the three stubborn little tramps that would not beg, but are willing to eat what we begged.  But come in, boys, and keep quiet, or some prying forester will come along and drive us out in the rain.”

The boys drew back, for they were startled and distressed at having run directly into the lion’s claws.

“Come in, you simpletons!  Are you afraid that I will kill you?”

“No wonder they are afraid when you are flourishing that big knife,” said the basket-maker.  “Come in, boys.  He has it only to cut our meat and bread.  He would not use it on a person because he knows he would have to suffer for it.”

The boys were afraid of them all, but night was coming on, it was raining, and there seemed nothing else to do, so they stepped in, followed by Pixy, who had sniffed the odor of sausage.

“Now you can set the table.  The sausage is done,” said the blacksmith, and while the butcher shut the door, the basket-maker hung his coat across the little window to hide the light from outside, and more fuel was piled on the fire, which soon blazed up and brightened the dingy place.

A newspaper was placed in the centre of the floor and a large paper bag was emptied of its contents upon it, a motley mess of bread, brown and white, scraps of meat, cheese and other things they had begged.