Therefore his name was one to be reckoned with everywhere, inside the city and out. He hated above all things cruelty of man against man, or of man against something helpless, a horse, or a dog, or a child. And when he saw one man and a woman and a boy of honest features and good appearance harassed by some hundred men, he did not hesitate but rushed into the midst of the flying stones without regard to his own safety or comfort. “Peace be with you,” he said to Pan Andrew when the crowd had scattered, “and with you, my daughter,” putting his hand upon the woman’s head. “What may be the cause of such mischance? You are strangers here?” “Strangers and worse. Homeless,” said Pan Andrew. “You are come from a long distance?” “The Ukraine.” The kind shoulders rocked in agitation. “My—my—but surely you have friends in town?” “I have none. I had a friend here and sought him, but he is dead. My house is burned by Tartars, my wealth is gone. I am pursued by men who seek my life and the one possession that I have left.” Here he touched the pumpkin with his foot. “But why this accusation of magic?” Pan Andrew smiled. “A trick it was to raise feelings against me in the public square and then to despoil me of this possession. I think that he who raised the storm against me here has followed me many miles across the border, and I believe that he is the agent of some more powerful person. There is much to this, my good—my good—— You are a priest?” [Illustration: _The Court of the University of Krakow, Fifteenth Century, with Modern Statue of Copernicus, Master of Arts, 1491._] “Men call me so. I am but a servant of the Father of us all.” “Then, good father, hear me! I seek to do no man wrong. I am helpless in a world of plotting and troubles and I seek only a place where I may this night provide shelter for my good wife and my boy.” “Come with me then,” said the scholar-priest. “I will at least offer you the hospitality that my cell affords. . . . Nay—hitch your horses to the wagon and drive through that lane yonder which leads to the Street of St. Ann.” Pan Andrew was already adjusting the harnesses when Joseph tugged at his sleeve. “Father,” he urged, “father, I know of a place where we can stay.” The father looked down at him in astonishment. “You,” he answered, “you? And how did you find such a place?” “A scholar and his niece live there. They took me to their house. There is a space below them at the head of a flight of stairs.” Jan Kanty interposed. “Come at any rate to my dwelling, and there we can make plans. If the boy has found a place, and his face and words seem truthful, then we can talk at better length there at our ease than here in the busy square.”