ith a merry heart!"

From which I hope that I have convinced you that the "Lame Cow" was an
eminently orderly place of conviviality, where worthy burghers of
Haarlem could drink ale and hot posset in the company of mevrouws, their
wives.

And it was to this highly praised and greatly respected establishment
that three tired-out and very thirsty philosophers repaired this New
Year's night, instead of attending the watch-night service at one of the
churches.

Diogenes, feeling that three guilders still reposed safely in his
wallet, declared his intention of continuing his career as a gentleman,
and a gentleman of course could not resort to one of those low-class
taverns which were usually good enough for foreign adventurers.

And thus did Fate have her will with him and brought him here this
night.

Moreover the tap-room of the "Lame Cow" wore a very gay appearance
always on New Year's night. It was noted for its clientele on that
occasion, for the good Rhenish wine which it dispensed, and for the gay
sight engendered by the Sunday gowns of the burghers and their ladies
who came here after service for a glass of wine and multifarious relish.

As the night was fine, despite the hard frost, Mynheer Beek expected to
be unusually busy. Already he had arranged on the polished tables the
rows of pewter platters heaped up with delicacies which he knew would be
in great request when the guests would begin to arrive: smoked sausage
garnished with horseradish, roasted liver and slabs of cheese.

The serving wenches with the sleeves of their linen shifts tucked well
up above their round red arms, their stolid faces streaming with
perspiration, were busy polishing tables that already were over-polished
and making pewter mugs to shine that already shone with a dazzling
radiance.

For the nonce the place was still empty and the philosophers when they
entered were able to select the table at which they wished to sit--one
near the hearth in which blazed gigantic logs, and at which they could
stretch out their limbs with comfort.

At Diogenes' suggestion they all made hasty repairs to their disordered
toilet, and re-adjusted the set of their collars and cuffs with the help
of the small mirror that hung close by against the wall.

Three strange forms of a truth that were thus mirrored in turns.

Socrates with a hole in his head, now freshly bandaged with a bit of
clean linen by the sympathetic hand of a serving maid: his hoo