very door, how he had already all his wares in his pack and how they would soon have to drum him out of the village to his own tune.
At that time, it so fell out, that Bartos, the gravedigger, came into Frishetts to pay a visit, and went direct to the house of the mayor.
“I have friends with us just now. Do you come to take their measure—eh?” said the mayor.
“Not exactly that,” said Bartos, “but I could wish to take my spade in hand to clear a certain something out of the way.”
“Well, seat yourself, seat yourself,” said the mayor.
And Bartos began:—
“You are Frank’s guardian, my dear mayor.”
“I am, I am,” admitted the mayor.
“And the money which Frank inherited through his grandfather you gave to me to stow away.”
“I did, I did, you do not, perhaps, want me to take charge of it again. That would be a pretty business. What could I do with it, pray, at my time of life? And, pray, where could it be better stowed away than at your house.”
“I do, indeed, wish you to take charge of it again. It is well stowed away at my house; but it is dead, like everything else that lies there; and this money must not lie dead.”
“And how do you mean to bring it to life, my dear Bartos.”
Z
