"Now you can set the table. The sausage is done," said the blacksmith, and while the butcher shut the door, the basket-maker hung his coat across the little window to hide the light from outside, and more fuel was piled on the fire, which soon blazed up and brightened the dingy place.
A newspaper was placed in the centre of the floor and a large paper bag was emptied of its contents upon it, a motley mess of bread, brown and white, scraps of meat, cheese and other things they had begged.
"Now fall to, yellow bills," said the butcher to the triplets. "Your money bought this sausage, and you have a right to share it," and he gave them a liberal supply on slices of brown bread.
The boys were hungry and ate heartily, though realizing that they were beggars and were being entertained by beggars.
"Your dog must have his supper," said the butcher-boy when they had finished and, putting scraps of bread, meat and other things into the pan in which the sausage had been fried, he stirred it about and poured it upon a piece of paper, and Pixy devoured it greedily.
As soon as the supper was finished, the travelers prepared for sleep.
"Let us put on our rain-coats," suggested Paul. "They will help dry our clothes and keep us warm."
"Why didn't you put them on before it rained?" asked the basket-maker.
"That is like locking the stable after the horse is stolen."
"We never thought of it," responded Fritz. They took the rain-coats from their knap sacks, put them on and felt immediate comfort; then all lay down with their feet toward the fire, Pixy close to Fritz.
"I am tired, and could sleep if I were not so thirsty," murmured Paul.