“I don’t care much for your priests,” replied Marx.  “I am from Weinsberg, and have found the Jew a worthy man.  No one shall touch him.”

“A Jew, and a good man!” cried Jurg, laughing.  “If you won’t help, so much the worse for you.  You’ll risk your neck, and the fifteen florins. ....Will you go shares?  Yes or no?”

“Heaven’s thunder!” murmured the poacher, his crooked mouth watering.”  How much is half of fifteen florins?”

“About seven, I should say.”

“A calf and a pig.”

“A swine for the Jew, that will suit.  You’ll keep him here in the trap.”

“I can’t, Jorg; by my soul, I can’t!  Let me alone!”

“Very well, for aught I care; but the legal gentlemen.  The gallows has waited for you long enough!”

“I can’t; I can’t.  I’ve been an honest man all my life, and the smith Adam and his dead father have shown me many a kindness.”

“Who means the smith any harm?”

“The receiver is as bad as the thief.  If they catch him....”

“He’ll be put in the stocks for a week.  That’s the worst that can befall him.”

“No, no.  Let me alone,—­or I’ll tell Adam what you’re plotting....”

“Then I’ll denounce you first, you gallows’ fruit, you rogue, you poacher.  They’ve suspected you a long time!  Will you change your mind now, you blockhead?”

“Yes, yes; but Ulrich is here too, and the boy is as dear to me as my own child.”

“I’ll come here later, say that no vehicle can be had, and take him away with me.  When it’s all over, I’ll let him go.”

“Then I’ll keep him.  He already helps me as much, as if he were a grown man.  Oh, dear, dear!  The Jew, the gentle man, and the poor women, and the little girl, Ruth....”

“Big Jews and little Jews, nothing more.  You’ve told me yourself, how the Hebrews were persecuted in your dead father’s day.  So we’ll go shares.  There’s a light in the room still.  You’ll detain them.  Count Frohlinger has been at his hunting-box since last evening....If they insist on moving forward, guide them to the village.”

“And I’ve been an honest man all my life,” whined the poacher, and then continued, threateningly:  “If you harm a hair on Ulrich’s head....”

“Fool that you are!  I’ll willingly leave the big feeder to you.  Go in now, then I’ll come and fetch the boy.  There’s money at stake—­fifteen florins!” Fifteen minutes after, Jorg entered the but.

The smith and the doctor believed the charcoal-burner, when he told them that all the vehicles in the village were in use, but he would find one elsewhere.  They must let the boy go with him, to enquire at the farm-houses in another village.  Somebody would doubtless be found to risk his horses.  The lad looked like a young nobleman, and the peasants would take earnest-money from him.  If he, Jorg, should show them florins, it would get him into a fine scrape.  The people knew he was as poor as a beggar.