y and physically, for months. He was a "character!" His
left hand--which he was never tired of saying the "_majors_" had ruined
("_Ah! les cochons!_") by leaving it alone--was stiff in all its joints,
so that the fingers would not bend; and the little finger of the right
hand, "_le petit_," "_le coquin_," "_l'empereur_," as he would severally
call it, was embellished by chalky excrescences. The old fellow had that
peculiar artfulness which comes from life-long dealing with horses, and
he knew exactly how far and how quickly it was advisable for him to mend
in health. About the third day he made up his mind that he wished to
remain with us at least until the warm weather came. For that it would
be necessary--he concluded--to make a cheering amount of progress, but
not too much. And this he set himself to do. He was convinced, one could
see, that after Peace had been declared and compensation assured him, he
would recover the use of his hand, even if "_l'empereur_" remained stiff
and chalky. As a matter of fact, I think he was mistaken, and will never
have a supple left hand again. But his arms were so brawny, his
constitution so vigorous, and his legs improved so rapidly under the
necessity of taking him down into the little town for his glass, of an
afternoon, that one felt he might possibly be digging again sooner than
he intended.

"_Ah, les cochons!_" he would say; "while one finger does not move, they
shall pay me!" He was very bitter against all "_majors_" save one, who
it seemed had actually sympathised with him, and all _deputes_, who for
him constituted the powers of darkness, drawing their salaries, and
sitting in their chairs. ("_Ah! les chameaux!_")

Though he was several years younger than oneself, one always thought of
him as "Old Poirot" indeed, he was soon called "_le grand-pere_," though
no more confirmed bachelor ever inhabited the world. He was a regular
"Miller of Dee," caring for nobody; and yet he was likeable, that
humorous old stoic, who suffered from gall-stones, and bore horrible
bouts of pain like a hero. In spite of all his disabilities his health
and appearance soon became robust in our easy-going hospital, where no
one was harried, the food excellent, and the air good. He would tell you
that his father lived to eighty, and his grandfather to a hundred, both
"strong men" though not so strong as his old master, the squire, of
whose feats in the hunting-field he would give most staggering accou