"I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck at length, after watching the water spreading in long, quicksilver-like streams over the floor for a quarter of an hour; "mayn't I take your cloak?" 

 "No, thank you," said the old gentleman. 

 "Your cap, sir?" 

 "I am all right, thank you," said the old gentleman rather gruffly. 

 "But—sir—I'm very sorry," said Gluck hesitatingly, "but—really, sir—you're—putting the fire out." 

 "It'll take longer to do the mutton, then," replied his visitor dryly. 

 Gluck was very much puzzled by the behavior of his guest; it was such a strange mixture of coolness and humility. He turned away at the string meditatively for another five minutes. 

 "That mutton looks very nice," said the old gentleman at length. "Can't you give me a little bit?" 

 "Impossible, sir," said Gluck. 

 "I'm very hungry," continued the old gentleman.  "I've had nothing to eat yesterday nor to-day. They surely couldn't miss a bit from the knuckle!" 

 He spoke in so very melancholy a tone that it quite melted Gluck's heart.  "They promised me one slice to-day, sir," said he; "I can give you that, but not a bit more." 

 "That's a good boy," said the old gentleman again. 

 Then Gluck warmed a plate and sharpened a knife.  "I don't care if I do get beaten for it," thought he. Just as he had cut a large slice out of the mutton there came a tremendous rap at the door. The old gentleman jumped off the hob as if it had suddenly become inconveniently warm. Gluck fitted the slice into the mutton again, with desperate efforts at exactitude, and ran to open the door. 

 "What did you keep us waiting in the rain for?" said Schwartz, as he walked in, throwing his umbrella in Gluck's face. 

 "Aye! what for, indeed, you little vagabond?" said Hans, administering an educational box on the ear as he followed his brother into the kitchen. 

 "Bless my soul!" said Schwartz when he opened the door. 

 "Amen," said the little gentleman, who had taken his cap off and was 

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