ll fat."

And they all winked at each other, but dared not laugh too loud, for fear
the Prussian might finally suspect they were laughing at him. Anthony,
alone growing bolder every day, pinched his thighs, exclaiming, "Nothing
but fat"; tapped him on the back, shouting, "That is all bacon"; lifted
him up in his arms as an old Colossus that could have lifted an anvil,
declaring, "He weighs six hundred and no waste."

He had got into the habit of making people offer his "pig" something to
eat wherever they went together. This was the chief pleasure, the great
diversion every day. "Give him whatever you please, he will swallow
everything." And they offered the man bread and butter, potatoes, cold
meat, chitterlings, which caused the remark, "Some of your own, and
choice ones."

The soldier, stupid and gentle, ate from politeness, charmed at these
attentions, making himself ill rather than refuse, and he was actually
growing fat and his uniform becoming tight for him. This delighted Saint
Anthony, who said: "You know, my pig, that we shall have to have another
cage made for you."

They had, however, become the best friends in the world, and when the old
fellow went to attend to his business in the neighborhood the Prussian
accompanied him for the simple pleasure of being with him.

The weather was severe; it was freezing hard. The terrible winter of 1870
seemed to bring all the scourges on France at one time.

Father Antoine, who made provision beforehand, and took advantage of
every opportunity, foreseeing that manure would be scarce for the spring
farming, bought from a neighbor who happened to be in need of money all
that he had, and it was agreed that he should go every evening with his
cart to get a load.

So every day at twilight he set out for the farm of Haules, half a league
distant, always accompanied by his "pig." And each time it was a
festival, feeding the animal. All the neighbors ran over there as they
would go to high mass on Sunday.

But the soldier began to suspect something, be mistrustful, and when they
laughed too loud he would roll his eyes uneasily, and sometimes they
lighted up with anger.

One evening when he had eaten his fill he refused to swallow another
morsel, and attempted to rise to leave the table. But Saint Anthony
stopped him by a turn of the wrist and, placing his two powerful hands on
his shoulders, he sat him down again so roughly that the chair smashed
under him.

A wild