“Did ye come across the water alone?”
“No. There was a friend of my father’s travelling to this country also. I left him last night.”
Now the wagon was jolting over the cobblestones, jarring every bone in Paul’s weary body. And, he was so hungry! All at once he caught the odor of spices, of fresh ginger-bread—such a friendly smell, such a homey, domestic smell, that made you think of a warm hearth, and familiar faces—
The horse stopped.
“Well, young man, I guess we part now.”
Paul felt as if he were asleep. He climbed stiffly out of the cart, shook the friendly, horny paw that his erstwhile companion thrust out, and tried to mutter his thanks. The wagon rumbled away up the street—and here he was.
He stood in the shelter of the quaint wooden balcony which extended from the second story of the Lambert’s dwelling out over the pavement. In front of him the light shone cheerily through the bakeshop window. Somehow, he rather dreaded to go up and knock at the door. Suppose that after all it was the wrong place? Suppose that no one knew that he was coming? Or, suppose that they wouldn’t believe he was Paul Winkler?
————
“So the prince took his knife and cut the third of the golden apples in half, and to his astonishment—”
“Janey, who is that talking to your father?” demanded Granny, opening her eyes suddenly.