When Eric and Johnny took their stroll, it was market-day, and, even at that early hour, the streets presented a lively scene.
Carts and drays were the stalls in the open street, and people were buying and selling at a great rate.
The fish stalls were surrounded by storks; but the people seemed to mind them no more than the birds minded the people. These storks are great favorites with Germans. In Strasbourg they are as tame as our domestic hens, and it is very comical to see them strutting importantly about, as if they had as good a right to the sidewalk as the other citizens.
The boys returned to the hotel with ravenous appetites, but, hungry as they were, could not appreciate the described daintiness of a most apparently unpalatable pie, called pâté de foie gras; so they were obliged to content themselves with other edibles and fragrant French coffee.
“Now for the minster!” said Eric, as they arose from the table.
“The minister?” exclaimed Johnny; “what for?”
Eric laughed.
“Not minister, but minster. A minster is a cathedral church.”
“I don’t care much about the minster, then,” said Johnny, running up stairs on all fours. “I’ve seen cathedrals till I’m sick of them. But this clock is curious, and I’m anxious to see it.”
“Johnny,” expostulated Eric, “walk properly. You ought to have been a monkey.—And that reminds me,” he added, “I must feed Froll and fasten her, that she may do no mischief while we’re at the cathedral.”