The boy obeyed quickly: he knew that his father was out of humor by his calling the dog "Schlunkel,"--for whenever Florian was ill at ease he tortured himself by giving to the sharer of his burden the name of the man who had first made him unhappy.
Crescence, meantime, had taken the stand and the kettle from the cart, had made a fire and placed the kettle filled with water upon it.
"Go and got us some potatoes," said she to Freddie. He took a pot and went up to a house which looked down upon their resting-place. The beams of the framework in the walls--visible, as is always the case in that part of the country--were painted a bright red. An elderly man was looking out of the window.
"Won't you be so kind," asked Freddie, "as to give us some potatoes? God reward you!"
"Where are you from?" asked the man, who looked as if he had eaten a good dinner.
"My father always says, 'From the place where people are hungry too.'"
"Is that your father down there?"
"Yes: but don't be too long about it if you want to give us any thing, for our wood's all burning away."
The man came down and opened the door: the neighbors wondered how Peter Mike came to open his house to a beggar.
Freddie soon came out again with a potfull of potatoes and a little lard in a bowl. Soon the boiled potatoes became a porridge, and after all the family had dined the dog received permission to lick the plates.