by, and those who did edged away from the ponderous, wanton-eyed figure of lazy mischief lounging there, as neatly as they well could.  The Thier hailed two or three.  One took to his legs, another bowed, smirked, gave him a kindly good-day, and affected to hear no more, having urgent business in prospect.  The Thier was a faithful dog, but the temptation to betray his trust and pursue them was mighty.  He began to experience an equal disposition to cry and roar.  He hummed a ballad—­

’I swore of her I’d have my will,
And with him I’d have my way: 
I learn’d my cross-bow over the hill: 
Now what does my lady say?

Give me the good old cross-bow, after all, and none of these lumbering puff-and-bangs that knock you down oftener than your man!

’A cross stands in the forest still,
And a cross in the churchyard grey: 
My curse on him who had his will,
And on him who had his way!

Good beginning, bad ending!  ’Tisn’t so always.  “Many a cross has the cross-bow built,” they say.  I wish I had mine, now, to peg off that old woman, or somebody.  I’d swear she’s peeping at me over the gable, or behind some cranny.  They’re curious, the old women, curse ’em!  And the young, for that matter.  Devil a young one here.

’When I’m in for the sack of a town,
What, think ye, I poke after, up and down? 
Silver and gold I pocket in plenty,
But the sweet tit-bit is my lass under twenty.

I should like to be in for the sack of this Cologne.  I’d nose out that pretty girl I was cheated of yesterday.  Take the gold and silver, and give me the maiden!  Her neck’s silver, and her hair gold.  Ah! and her cheeks roses, and her mouth-say no more!  I’m half thinking Werner, the hungry animal, has cast wolf’s eyes on her.  They say he spoke of her last night.  Don’t let him thwart me.  Thunderblast him!  I owe him a grudge.  He’s beginning to forget my plan o’ life.’

A flight of pigeons across the blue top of the street abstracted the Thier from these reflections.  He gaped after them in despair, and fell to stretching and shaking himself, rattling his lungs with loud reports.  As he threw his eyes round again, they encountered those of a monk opposite fastened on him in penetrating silence.  The Thier hated monks as a wild beast shuns fire; but now even a monk was welcome.

‘Halloo!’ he sung out.

The monk crossed over to him.

‘Friend!’ said he, ’weariness is teaching thee wantonness.  Wilt thou take service for a night’s work, where the danger is little, the reward lasting?’

‘As for that,’ replied the Thier, ’danger comes to me like greenwood to the deer, and good pay never yet was given in promises.  But I’m bound for the next hour to womankind within there.  They’re my masters; as they’ve been of tough fellows before me.’

‘I will seek them, and win their consent,’ said the monk, and so left him.