hat from his
friend's head, the latter bowed as well as he could under the
circumstances and said gallantly:

"Thy servants, lady, and eternally grateful are we for a sight of thee
at this moment when the world appeared peculiarly fog-ridden and
unpleasant. Having been the fortunate cause of thy merriment, might we
now crave thy permission to continue our way. The weight of my friend up
there is greater than his importance warrants, and I don't want to drop
him ere we reach a haven of refuge, where our priceless thirst will
soon, I hope, find solace."

The delicate face of the young girl had suddenly become more grave.

"Your pardon, gentle sirs," she said, with a pretty mixture of
imperiousness and humility; "my levity was indeed misplaced. I know ye
now for the same three brave fellows who were fighting a few moments ago
against overwhelming odds, in order to protect a woman against a rowdy
crowd. Oh, it was a valorous deed! My men and I were on our way to
watch-night service, and saw it all from a distance. We dared not come
nigh, the rabble looked so threatening. All I could do was to shout for
help, and summon the town guard to your aid. It was you, was it not?"
she added, regarding with great wondering blue eyes the three curious
figures who stood somewhat sheepishly before her.

"Yes, fair lady," piped Pythagoras, in his neatest falsetto, "we were
the three men who, in the face of well-nigh overwhelming odds, did save
a defenceless woman from the insolent rabble. My friend who is perched
up there was severely wounded in the fray, I myself received so violent
a blow in the stomach that a raging thirst has since taken possession of
my throat, and----"

He stopped abruptly and murmured a comprehensive oath. He had just
received a violent kick in the shins from Diogenes.

"What the h----?" he muttered.

But Diogenes paid no heed to him; looking on the dainty picture before
him, with eyes that twinkled whilst they did not attempt to conceal the
admiration which he felt, he said, with elaborate gallantry, which his
position under the burden of Socrates' swaying figure rendered
inexpressibly droll:

"For the help rendered to us all at the moment of distress, deign to
accept, mejuffrouw, our humble thanks. For the rest, believe me, our
deed was not one of valour, and such as it was it is wholly unworthy of
the praise thou dost deign to bestow upon it. I would tell thee more,"
he added, whimsically, "only that