"Much has been retained of mediæval times here," said the Professor.
The friends came to the market-place, an irregular space, the little houses of which were adorned with bright paint. There on an insignificant building prominently stood a red dragon with a curled tail, carved out of a board, and supported in the air on an iron pole. Upon it was painted, in ill-formed letters; "The Dragon Inn."
"See," said Fritz, pointing to the dragon, "the fancy of the artist has carved him with a pike's head and thick teeth. The dragon is the oldest treasure-preserver of our legends. It is remarkable how firmly the recollection of this legendary animal everywhere clings to the people. Probably this sign-board originates from some tradition of the place."
They ascended the white stone steps into the house, utterly unconscious that they had long been watched by sharp eyes. A citizen, who was taking his morning draught, exclaimed to the stout host, "Who can these be? They do not look like commercial travelers; perhaps one of them is the new parson from Kirchdorf."
"Parsons don't look like that," said the inn-keeper, decidedly, who knew men better; "they are strangers on foot, no carriage and no luggage."
The strangers entered, placed themselves at a red-painted table, and ordered breakfast. "A beautiful country, mine host," began the Professor; "magnificent trees in your forests."
"Yes," answered the host.
"A wealthy neighborhood, apparently," continued the Professor.
"People complain that they do not earn enough," replied the host.
"How many clergy have you in the place?"