d planting himself in front of us asked my
brother, 'What is the price of the boy?'

"'A cord of Swiss impudence,' I answered, pertly; 'six feet wide and
six feet high.'

"The stout Appenzeller laughed, and said to my brother, 'The boy is
smart, I like him.' He asked me various questions, all of which I
answered as well as I knew how.

"My brother and the Appenzeller agreed upon the terms. The only
farewell I received was, 'You will get thrashed if you come home before
winter.'

"The whole summer I served us goatherd, and a merry life I had; but
those words, 'What is the price of the boy?' often rang in my ears. I
felt like another Joseph, sold into Egypt by my own brother, but with
no likelihood of becoming king. In the winter I was at home again,
where I was not well treated, nor, I confess, very well-behaved. In the
spring I said to my brother, 'Give me a hundred florins' worth of
clocks, and let me join you in the clock trade.' 'A hundred cuffs, more
likely,' was all the answer my brother Lorenz gave me. At that time he
had the whole charge of the business and the household, my father being
sick and my mother not daring to interfere. Women were not of as much
account in those days as they are now,--fortunately for them and their
husbands, too, in my opinion. I induced a travelling merchant to let me
go with him and carry his clocks. He almost broke my back with the
burdens he imposed upon me, and nearly starved me into the bargain; yet
I could not get away from him. I was worse off than the poor horse in
harness, for he is at least of value enough to be cared for. Many times
I was tempted to run away with the wares intrusted to me; but always
atoned for my evil thoughts by compelling myself to remain awhile
longer with my tormentor. No harm came to me from this experience,
however, hard as it was. I kept healthy and honest.

"One occurrence, which exerted a great influence on my future
movements, I must relate here, because I shall have occasion to refer
to it later. Anton Striegler and I were sitting chatting together one
beautiful summer morning, before the posada--as they call the inns in
Spain--of a large town about six leagues from Valencia, when a handsome
boy, who happened to be passing, stopped, listened to our talk for a
while, and then began wringing his hands like one possessed. Just as I
was about to call my companion's attention to the boy, he suddenly
sprang towards us, and seizing Striegler, cri