The host started at the awful reply, which to him was sacrilege, and answered in a faltering voice: "The horses take up all the room." The stranger seemed not entirely put out by the persistent refusal of the landlord and said: "We will find some corner in which to lie after supper." "I will give you no supper." This declaration, made in a firm tone, brought the mysterious traveller to his feet. "Can you, a Christian, speak thus?" he cried. "We are dying of hunger. I have been on my legs since sunrise, and have walked ten leagues to-day, for most part carrying my child on my back. I have the money, I am hungry, and I will have food." "I have none for you," said the landlord. "What are you cooking in your kitchen, the savory odors of which are maddening to a hungry man?" "It is all ordered." "By whom?" "Merchants and travellers from Plymouth and New Amsterdam." "You can surely spare a crust for my child, she is starving." The stern landlord hesitated, when a loud authoritative "Ahem!" from his invisible wife strengthened him, and he said: "I have not a morsel to spare." "I am at an inn. I am hungry, I have money, and I shall remain," answered the stranger, sitting by the side of the little girl, who nervously clutched his arm. The landlord seemed quite put out, if not a little awed by the determined manner of the stranger, and turning about re-entered the house, where he held a whispered consultation with some one. Terror overcame the hunger of the tired child, and, clinging to her father, she whispered: "Let us go from this house. I am not hungry now, let us go to some other place where we will not be injured." He laid his hard, rough hand assuringly on the shoulder of the frightened child and sought to soothe her fears. At this moment the landlord, who had had his courage renewed by his wife, came quite up to the stranger and, in a voice that was terribly in earnest, said: "I know more of you by far than you realize. I am usually polite to everybody, so pray be off." For a single instant a flash blazed from the eyes of the stranger, then his face grew deathly white, and he rose, taking the hand of his child in his own and went off. They walked along the streets at hap-hazard, keeping close to the houses like a sad and humiliated pair. His tired child was at his side, uncomplaining, though scarcely able to drag one weary little foot after the other. They did not look back once. Had they done so they would have seen that the landlord stood with all his guests and the passers-by, talking eagerly and pointing to them. Judging from the looks of suspicion and terror, they might have guessed that ere long their arrival would be the event of the whole town. They saw nothing of this, for people who are oppressed do not look back, they know too well that evil destiny is following them.