A cheerful looking, comely woman, clad in a superabundance of woollen petticoats, was busy at the stove, cooking the supper of a foot-traveller who read a crumpled newspaper at the window; while surrounding the kitchen-table, three or four peasants, who had been driven in by the rain, were hungrily supping milk-porridge from a large bowl common to them all. A pretty girl of sixteen, after adding to their meal a basket of coarse rye-cakes, spread a small table for the stranger, who, as soon as his supper was served, fell upon it with avidity. His hostess, meanwhile, retired to the end of the kitchen, where there was a great meal-bin, and began to set the bread for the morrow's baking, closely watched, all the time, by two little girls with long braids of hair hanging down their backs. "The thunder still rumbles," said a man who was quietly smoking near the stove. He was about forty years of age; his person was strong and manly, with slightly rounded shoulders; his full, dark eyes beamed with gentleness; his clustering, deep brown hair fell low on his broad forehead, and continued round his face in a beard that became coal-black towards the chin. He looked kind and enduring rather than impetuous, and not unaptly represented the image of strength in repose. He wore a close-fitting grass-green coat over a scarlet waistcoat, on which hung a rosary and crucifix between his green, embroidered braces; black knee-breeches, scarlet stockings, and laced half-boots. The quiet self-possession of his manner bespoke him the _wirth_, or master of the inn. "The thunder still rumbles," said he. "Aye aye, Sandwirth," answered one of the peasants, grinning; "better to be under cover than half-way between this and St. Martin's." "Father," said a lad, running into the house, "two men are coming hither. And I think," added he eagerly, under his breath, "the tallest of them is Joseph Speckbacher." "Hist!" said his father, laying aside his pipe, while he glanced furtively at the stranger. At the same time, the rustics, having finished their supper, departed, without caring for the skirt of the storm, which they pronounced clearing off, though large drops continued to fall heavily. "Those labourers seem content with homely fare," said the traveller, pushing aside his plate. "They don't taste meat once a fortnight," said the Sandwirth, "and yet you see what strong, active fellows they are. Shall you take a bed here, sir, to-night?" "No, I would sooner go on, if it were not for the storm." "It will soon blow over," said the Wirth. "Perhaps you have a book to lend me, meanwhile?" "Oh, yes," said the girl Theresa, bringing him one with alacrity. "This? Hum! the 'South German Plutarch,'" muttered the traveller--"I doubt if I shall not drop asleep over it." And, laying his legs up on a wooden stool, he began to turn over the leaves.