here; and, as there was only the
spring...."

"Oh, but look here," growled Farmer Goussot, "we should have seen him!"

"It was at night."

"We should have heard him ... and seen him too, as we were close by."

"So was he."

"And he drank the water from the pool?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"From a little way off."

"With what?"

"With this."

And the stranger showed the straw which he had picked up:

"There, here's the straw for the customer's long drink. You will see,
there's more of it than usual: in fact, it is made of three straws stuck
into one another. That was the first thing I noticed: those three straws
fastened together. The proof is conclusive."

"But, hang it all, the proof of what?" cried Farmer Goussot, irritably.

The stranger took a shotgun from the rack.

"Is it loaded?" he asked.

"Yes," said the youngest of the brothers. "I use it to kill the sparrows
with, for fun. It's small shot."

"Capital! A peppering where it won't hurt him will do the trick."

His face suddenly assumed a masterful look. He gripped the farmer by the
arm and rapped out, in an imperious tone:

"Listen to me, Farmer Goussot. I'm not here to do policeman's work; and
I won't have the poor beggar locked up at any price. Four weeks of
starvation and fright is good enough for anybody. So you've got to swear
to me, you and your sons, that you'll let him off without hurting him."

"He must hand over the money!"

"Well, of course. Do you swear?"

"I swear."

The gentleman walked back to the door-sill, at the entrance to the
orchard. He took a quick aim, pointing his gun a little in the air, in
the direction of the cherry tree which overhung the spring. He fired. A
hoarse cry rang from the tree; and the scarecrow which had been
straddling the main branch for a month past came tumbling to the ground,
only to jump up at once and make off as fast as its legs could carry it.

There was a moment's amazement, followed by outcries. The sons darted in
pursuit and were not long in coming up with the runaway, hampered as he
was by his rags and weakened by privation. But the stranger was already
protecting him against their wrath:

"Hands off there! This man belongs to me. I won't have him touched.... I
hope I haven't stung you up too much, Trainard?"

Standing on his straw legs wrapped round with strips of tattered cloth,
with his arms and his whole body clad in the same materials, his head
swathed in linen, tightly packed li