"They don't taste meat once a fortnight," said the Sandwirth, "and yet you see what strong, active fellows they are. Shall you take a bed here, sir, to-night?"
"No, I would sooner go on, if it were not for the storm."
"It will soon blow over," said the Wirth.
"Perhaps you have a book to lend me, meanwhile?"
"Oh, yes," said the girl Theresa, bringing him one with alacrity.
"This? Hum! the 'South German Plutarch,'" muttered the traveller—"I doubt if I shall not drop asleep over it."
And, laying his legs up on a wooden stool, he began to turn over the leaves.
Two men here came in, panting and laughing. "What a storm!" cried one, laying his conical hat with its drenched feather on the table. "How are you, Anderl?" extending his brown muscular hand to him.
"Well; praised be Jesus Christ!" said the Sandwirth, reverently; to which the two others replied with seriousness—