The sexton, rubbing his eyes, shook with fear, while the host hobbled to the door as fast as his extreme corpulency would allow him.
“Who’s there?” cried he, with a voice which would not have disgraced a sentinel giving the challenge.
“Who’s there, and what’s your business?”
“A shelter for the night,” was the answer from without.
“That’s impossible; all my beds are taken, and my house is full.”
“A corner in your hay-loft, or in the stable, will be enough. Open the door, for goodness’ sake, and you shall be rewarded for your trouble.”
At the word “reward” the landlord unfastened the bolts of the doors and cast a keen glance on his nightly visitor.
“A wet night, this,” said he, opening the door wide.
“Ah, so it be, master,” answered a third person, whom the landlord had not yet discovered.
“You are not alone, sir traveller, it seems,” said the landlord.