itizens on account of the tolls on the bridges.
I'd rather lie on thorns than enter the miserable hole. The stable down
below is large enough! Haven't you a heap of straw for a poor brother in
Christ? I need nothing more; I've brought food with me."

The smith lowered his eyes in embarrassment. He was not hospitable. No
stranger had rested under his roof, and everything that disturbed his
seclusion was repugnant to him. Yet he could not refuse; so he answered
coldly: "I live alone here with my boy, but if you wish, room can be
made."

The monk accepted as eagerly, as if he had been cordially invited; and
after the horses and groom were supplied with shelter, followed his host
into the sitting-room next the shop, and placed his saddle-bags on the
table.

"This is all right," he said, laughing, as he produced a roast fowl and
some white bread. "But how about the wine? I need something warm inside
after my wet ride. Haven't you a drop in the cellar?"

"No, Father!" replied the smith. But directly after a second thought
occurred to him, and he added: "Yes, I can serve you."

So saying, he opened the cupboard, and when, a short time after, the monk
emptied the first goblet, he uttered a long drawn "Ah!" following the
course of the fiery potion with his hand, till it rested content near his
stomach. His lips quivered a little in the enjoyment of the flavor; then
he looked benignantly with his unusually round eyes at Adam, saying
cunningly:

"If such grapes grow on your pine-trees, I wish the good Lord had given
Father Noah a pine-tree instead of a vine. By the saints! The archbishop
has no better wine in his cellar! Give me one little sip more, and tell
me from whom you received the noble gift?"

"Costa gave me the wine."

"The sorcerer---the Jew?" asked the monk, pushing the goblet away. "But,
of course," he continued, in a half-earnest, half-jesting tone, "when one
considers--the wine at the first holy communion, and at the marriage of
Cana, and the juice of the grapes King David enjoyed, once lay in Jewish
cellars!"

Benedict had doubtless expected a smile or approving word from his host,
but the smith's bearded face remained motionless, as if he were dead.

The monk looked less cheerful, as he began again "You ought not to grudge
yourself a goblet either. Wine moderately enjoyed makes the heart glad;
and you don't look like a contented man. Everything in life has not gone
according to your wishes, but each has