ou are a kind of hermit," she said at last.

"Right," he said. "But that's not enough. What do I do? You," he added,
pointing to Mary, "what do you think I do?"

"Perhaps you lecture," said Mary, "or preach. No, I don't think you
preach. I think very likely you speak to villagers about
politics--tariff reform and things like that."

The big man laughed. "Very well," he said. "Now you," to Robert.

"I think you're a gentleman gipsy," said Robert. "Like Lavengro. Are
you?"

"In a way," said the stranger, "but I shan't tell you till you've all
guessed."

Jack Rotheram then guessed that he was a spy, and this amused him
immensely.

"In a kind of way I am that too," he answered. "At any rate, I am
always looking out for the fatness of the land."

Hester guessed he had a broken heart because of a disappointment in
love, and was living all alone because he hated the world, like Lord
Byron.

He liked this most of all, and laughed for a long time--much longer, he
explained afterwards, than a broken-hearted Lord Byron would have done.

Horace Campbell did not exactly guess, but said that he hoped that the
stranger was a gentleman burglar--a kind of Raffles and Robin Hood in
one--who robbed only the wicked rich and helped the poor. "As," he
added, "I want to."

"Oh, do you?" said the big man. "Well, don't rob me, anyway. Wait till
I have led the Snail to a place of safety."

And lastly Gregory guessed. "I think," he said, "you are a vagabond."

"Gregory!" cried Janet; "you mustn't say things like that," while the
stranger laughed again.

"Why not?" Gregory inquired. "I mean like the Wandering Jew Mr. Crawley
told us about. He called him the prince of vagabonds."

"Well," said the stranger, "Gregory's right. I am a vagabond. But I'm
something else too, and I'll tell you. I'm an artist. My name is Hamish
MacAngus. I live in the Snail most of the summer, and in London in the
winter. I cover pieces of cardboard and canvas with paint more or less
like trees, and cows, and sheep, and skies, and people who have more
pennies than brains buy them from me; and then I take the pennies, and
change them for the nice sensible things of life, such as bacon, and
tobacco, and oats. My horse's name is Pencil. I came here from Banbury,
and I am making slowly for Cropthorne. Now tell me all about
yourselves. Tell me in the order of age."

The children looked at each other, and laughed.

"You first," said Mr. MacAngus, again to J