of more importance than their
twisted feathers. "Those are not the wisest people," he added sagely,
"who despise what is good to try to get better. So stick to the
excellent Blue Pike wine and say no more about it!"

Without waiting for an answer from the astonished guests, he limped back
to his window to resume his listening. The conversation, however, had
already taken a new turn, for Dr. Peutinger was describing the Roman
monument which he had had put up in the courtyard of his Augsburg house,
but, as this interested Dietel very little, he soon turned his attention
to the high road, whence a belated guest might still come to The Blue
Pike.

The landlady's little kitchen garden lay between it and the river Main,
and there--no, it was no deception--there, behind the low hawthorn
hedge, a human figure was moving.

One of the vagabonds had certainly slipped into the garden to steal
fruit or vegetables, or even honey from the bee hives. An unprecedented
offence! Dietel's blood boiled, for the property of The Blue Pike was as
dear to him as his own.

With prompt decision he went through the entry into the yard, where
he meant to unchain the butcher's dog to help him chase the abominable
robber. But some time was to elapse ere he could execute this
praiseworthy intention; for before he could cross the threshold the
landlord of The Pike appeared, berated him, and ordered him to be more
civil in the performance of his duties. The words were intended less for
the waiter than for the feather dealer and his friends.

The latter had complained of Dietel to the landlord of The Pike, and,
after he had received a reproof, they punished him for his rudeness by
ordering him to fetch one jug of wine from the cellar after another. At
last, when, with many a malediction, he had brought up the fifth, his
tormentors released him, but then the best time was lost. Nevertheless
he continued the pursuit and entered the little garden with the dog, but
the thief had fled.

After assuring himself of this fact he stood still, rubbing his narrow
forehead with the tips of his fingers.

The rogue was most probably one of the vagrants, and like a flash it
entered his mind that the ropedancer, Kuni, who in her prosperous days,
instead of eating meat and vegetables, preferred to satisfy her appetite
with fruits and sweet dainties, might be the culprit. Besides, when he
had looked around among the guests just before, she was no longer with
the