dead? He was leaning against the chapel, and didn't move. The cobbler felt queer. He said to himself: "They have killed some man, rifled his pockets, and pitched him out here. You go on, and don't mix yourself up with it!"
So the cobbler went on. He got level with the chapel and—the man was no longer to be seen. He passed by the chapel and looked round; there was the man leaning forward from the chapel wall, and he moved a little as if he were looking towards the cobbler. The cobbler grew still more afraid, and he thought to himself: "Shall I go up to him or shall I pass by? Go to him, indeed! Some evil may come of it! Who knows who and what he is? No good errand has brought him hither, I know! Perchance he'll leap at me, and throttle me, and do for me. And even if he doesn't, what can I do with a naked man? I can't give him the very last rags off my own back, I suppose? God be my aid while I pass by him, that's all!"
And the cobbler quickened his pace. He was already passing by the chapel when his conscience began to nip him. And the cobbler stood still in the middle of the road.
"What ails the man?" said he to himself. "What doest thou, Simon? Here's a man dying in misery and thou takest fright and dost pass him by? Hast thou grown rich, forsooth? Dost thou fear they'll steal thy treasures? Come, come, Simon, this won't do!"
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