“There is a heavy bolt on the potato-bin,” said Werther, taking his pipe out of his mouth and leaning upon the dog-eared register.
“Conduct Hans Peter to it, and be his jailer until to-morrow morning. Mind that he hath no supper.”
“What is Hans Peter’s offence?” Mother Werther asked, opening the door from the kitchen and putting her black-capped head into the room. “Tut, tut, my boy! I hope thou hast not been exhibiting thy folly in some hazardous manner.”
Hans Peter put his hands into his deep pockets, hung his head, and made no reply.
“The simple one is to be locked in your potato-bin until he tells the truth about the Bible,” announced the Herr Doktor.
“Nay, be not too severe with him. Hans Peter will tell—wilt not thou, boy?” said Mother Werther, coaxingly.
But the simple one only shook his round head.
“You may have to stay down there in the darkness with the rats for a week,” said Karl Weisel.
“Yea, thou shalt not baffle the elders of Zanah,” declared the Herr Doktor. “It will be the cellar or the stocks until thou dost wag thy stubborn tongue to good purpose.”
“Now thou art speaking wisely, Brother Schneider,” said Karl Weisel. “Why dost thou not order Diedrich Werther to conduct the fool to his prison?”