r: laugh at this--"

And, opening his book again, he read a long passage as I walked
beside him; but I could make neither head nor tail of it.

"That is from the 'Sentimental Journey,' by Laurence Sterne, the most
beautiful of your English wits. Ah, he is more than French!
Laugh at it."

It was rather hard to laugh thus to order; but suddenly he set me the
example, showing two rows of very white teeth, and fetching from his
hollow chest a sound of mirth so incongruous with the whole aspect of
the man, that I began to grin too.

"That's right; but be louder. Make the sounds that you made just
now--"

He broke off sharply, being seized with an ugly fit of coughing, that
forced him to halt and lean on his staff for a while. When he
recovered we walked on together after the geese, he talking all the
way in high-flown sentences that were Greek to me, and I stealing a
look every now and then at his olive face, and half inclined to take
to my heels and run.

We came at length to the ridge where the road dives suddenly into
Tregarrick. The town lies along a narrow vale, and looking down, we
saw flags waving along the street and much smoke curling from the
chimneys, and heard the church-bells, the big drum, and the confused
mutterings and hubbub of the fair. The sun--for the morning was
still fresh--did not yet pierce to the bottom of the valley, but fell
on the hillside opposite, where cottage-gardens in parallel strips
climbed up from the town to the moorland beyond.

"What is that?" asked the goose-driver, touching my arm and pointing
to a dazzling spot on the slope opposite.

"That's the sun on the windows of Gardener Tonken's glass-house."

"Eh?--does he live there?"

"He's dead, and the garden's 'to let;' you can just see the board
from here. But he didn't live there, of course. People don't live
in glass-houses; only plants."

"That's a pity, little boy, for their souls' sakes. It reminds me of
a story--by the way, do you know Latin? No? Well, listen to this:--
if I can sell my geese to-day, perhaps I will hire that glass-house,
and you shall come there on half holidays, and learn Latin. Now run
ahead and spend your money."

I was glad to escape, and in the bustle of the fair quickly forgot my
friend. But late in the afternoon, as I had my eyes glued to a
peep-show, I heard a voice behind me cry "Little boy!" and turning,
saw him again. He was without his geese.

"I have sold them," he said,