annoyance, he
followed his example in a still more conspicuous way.

The artist paid no heed to these gestures, but quietly requested his
guests to make room for the boy.

A muffled head was suddenly thrust out from under the straw, a voice
cried: "A hospital on wheels!" then the head vanished again like that of
a fish, which has risen to take a breath of air.

"Very true," replied the artist. "You need not draw up your limbs so
far, my worthy Lansquenet, but I must request these reverend gentlemen
to move a little farther apart, or closer together, and make room for
the sick lad on the leather sack."

While these words were uttered, one of the escort laid the still
senseless boy under the tilt.

Magister Sutor noticed the snow that clung to Ulrich's hair and
clothing, and while struggling to rise, uttered a repellent "no," while
Stubenrauch hastily added reproachfully: "There will be a perfect pool
here, when that melts; you gave us these places, Meister Moor, but we
hardly expected to receive also dripping limbs and rheumatic pains...."

Before he finished the sentence, the bandaged head again appeared from
the straw, and the high, shrill voice of the man concealed under it,
asked? "Was the blood of the wounded wayfarer, the good Samaritan picked
up by the roadside, dry or wet?"

An encouraging glance from Sutor requested Stubenrauch to make an
appropriate answer, and the latter in an unctuous tone, hastily replied:
"It was the Lord, who caused the Samaritan to find the wounded man by
the roadside--this did not happen in our case, for the wet boy is forced
upon us, and though we are Samaritans...."

"You are not yet merciful," cried the voice from the straw.

The artist laughed, but the soldier, slapping his thigh with his sound
hand, cried:

"In with the boy, you fellows outside; here, put him on my right--move
farther apart, you gentlemen down below; the water will do us no harm,
if you'll only give us some of the wine in your basket yonder."

The priests, willy-nilly, now permitted Ulrich to be laid on the
leathern sack between them, and while first Sutor, and then Stubenrauch,
shrunk away to mutter prayers over a rosary for the senseless lad's
restoration to consciousness, and to avoid coming in contact with
his wet clothes, the artist entered the vehicle, and without asking
permission, took the wine from the priests' basket. The soldier helped
him, and soon their united exertions, with the fiery liqu