“Not so strange, stranger, as that I should stand your groom, without being brought up to such a business for any man. Here's your nag, sir.”
“I thank you—I would not willingly trespass,” he replied, as he relieved our angler from his grasp upon the bridle.
“You're welcome without the thanks, stranger. I reckon you know the route you come. Up hill, follow the track to the top, take the left turn to the valley, then you'll see the houses, and can follow your own nose or your nag's. Either's straight enough to carry you to his rack. You'll find your clothes at your boarding-house about the time that you'll get there.”
“Nay, sir, I already owe you much. Let them not trouble you. I will take them myself.”
“No, no, stranger!” was the reply of our fisherman, as he stooped down and busied himself in making the garments into a compact bundle; “I'm not the man to leave off without doing the thing I begin to do. I sometimes do more than I bargain for—sometimes lick a man soundly when I set out only to tweak his nose; but I make it a sort of Christian law never to do less. You may reckon to find your clothes home by the time you get there. There's your road.”
“A regular pair of cubs!” muttered the horseman, as he ascended the hill.
“To purse up his mouth as if I was giving him root-drink, when I was telling him about Mother Frey's spoiling the fish! Let him take care—he may get the vinegar next time, and not the fish!”
And, with these characteristic commentaries, the parties separated for the time.