"Why did they fine you?"
"On account of the Kreuzmann!"
"And who is the Kreuzmann?"
"The Allmann."
"He likewise is unknown to me," said Ekkehard. "What is he like?"
"He is made of metal," grumbled the fisherman, "two spans high, and holds three water-lilies in his hand. He was standing in the old willow-tree at Allmannsdorf, and it was good that he stood there; but at the last session they took him out of the tree, and carried him into their cloister. So now he stands on that Italian bishop's grave at Niederzell. What good does he do there?--Does he help dead Saints to catch fish?"
Then Ekkehard perceived, that the fisherman's Christian faith was as yet not very strong; and also why the bronze idol had cost him a shilling's fine. He had sacrificed a kid to him at night-time, in order that his nets might be well filled with felchen, trout and perch; and the authorities had punished these heathenish memories, according to the imperial laws.
"Be sensible, my good fellow," said Ekkehard, "and try to forget the Allmann. I will restore you a good part of your shilling, if you will row me over."
"What I say," replied the old man, "shall not be turned round like a ring on a finger. I will take none of you. My boy may do it if he likes."
He then whistled through his fingers, which brought his boy, a tall boatman, who undertook to row him over.