Footsteps were then heard descending the stairs, and the next moment a quaint-looking personage appeared at the door in dressing-gown and slippers, with night-cap on head and candle in hand, and demanded in a surly tone what the "teufel" he wanted at that hour of night.
My ancestor apologised with much courtesy for having roused up so worthy an individual at such an unearthly hour, but pleaded that he was a poor benighted traveller, hungry and soaked to the skin.
"Then you should have moved further on," was the curt reply.
"But whither?" asked my relative.
"To the township. This house is not a 'wirtshaus.'"
"How far distant is it?"
"A mile."
By this he meant a German mile—equal to four English miles.
"A mile!" exclaimed the Englishman. "I could not walk a mile to save my life. I've sprained my ankle and can't move a step further. I'm sorry to put you to such inconvenience, my good fellow, but I really must put up here."
"But there is no accommodation," growled the inmate.