"My Karl has told me that he has been to see you, and that you were most kind.

He is a good boy, but he is a falling off as to size.

His mother was a little woman," added Sturm, mournfully, draining a quart of beer to the last drop.

"It is draught beer," he said, apologetically; "may I offer you a glass?
It is a custom among us to drink no other, but certainly we drink this the whole day through, for our work is heating." "Your son wishes to become one of your number, I hear," said Anton.
"A porter!" rejoined the giant.

"No, that he never shall." Then laying his hand confidentially on Anton's knee, "It would never do; my dear departed wife besought me against it on her death-bed.