ne of these lumbering
puff-and-bangs that knock you down oftener than your man!

'A cross stands in the forest still,
And a cross in the churchyard grey:
My curse on him who had his will,
And on him who had his way!

Good beginning, bad ending! 'Tisn't so always. "Many a cross has the
cross-bow built," they say. I wish I had mine, now, to peg off that old
woman, or somebody. I'd swear she's peeping at me over the gable, or
behind some cranny. They're curious, the old women, curse 'em! And the
young, for that matter. Devil a young one here.

'When I'm in for the sack of a town,
What, think ye, I poke after, up and down?
Silver and gold I pocket in plenty,
But the sweet tit-bit is my lass under twenty.

I should like to be in for the sack of this Cologne. I'd nose out that
pretty girl I was cheated of yesterday. Take the gold and silver, and
give me the maiden! Her neck's silver, and her hair gold. Ah! and her
cheeks roses, and her mouth-say no more! I'm half thinking Werner, the
hungry animal, has cast wolf's eyes on her. They say he spoke of her last
night. Don't let him thwart me. Thunderblast him! I owe him a grudge.
He's beginning to forget my plan o' life.'

A flight of pigeons across the blue top of the street abstracted the
Thier from these reflections. He gaped after them in despair, and fell to
stretching and shaking himself, rattling his lungs with loud reports. As
he threw his eyes round again, they encountered those of a monk opposite
fastened on him in penetrating silence. The Thier hated monks as a wild
beast shuns fire; but now even a monk was welcome.

'Halloo!' he sung out.

The monk crossed over to him.

'Friend!' said he, 'weariness is teaching thee wantonness. Wilt thou take
service for a night's work, where the danger is little, the reward
lasting?'

'As for that,' replied the Thier, 'danger comes to me like greenwood to
the deer, and good pay never yet was given in promises. But I'm bound for
the next hour to womankind within there. They're my masters; as they've
been of tough fellows before me.'

'I will seek them, and win their consent,' said the monk, and so left
him.

'Quick dealing!' thought the Thier, and grew brisker. 'The Baron won't
want me to-night: and what if he does? Let him hang himself--though, if
he should, 'twill be a pity I'm not by to help him.'

He paced under the wall to its farthest course. Turni