of the forest, and not a
squirrel leaping, nor a bird fluttering among the branches, escaped his
notice as he passed by. Still he rode on rapidly, and having got fairly
into the road, soon outstripped his guide.

"A crooked road this to Beaumanoir," remarked he at length, drawing
bridle to allow Master Pothier to rejoin him. "It is as mazy as the law.
I am fortunate, I am sure, in having a sharp notary like you to conduct
me through it."

"Conduct you! Your Honor is leading me! But the road to Beaumanoir is as
intricate as the best case ever drawn up by an itinerant notary."

"You seldom ride, Master Pothier?" said Philibert, observing his guide
jolting with an audible grunt at every step of his awkward nag.

"Ride, your Honor! N--no! Dame Bedard shall call me plaisant Robin
if she ever tempts me again to mount her livery horse--'if fools only
carried cruppers!' as Panurge says."

"Why, Master Pothier?" Philibert began to be amused at his odd guide.

"Why? Then I should be able to walk to-morrow--that is all! This nag
will finish me. Hunc! hanc! hoc! He is fit to be Satan's tutor at the
seminary! Hoc! hanc! hunc! I have not declined my pronouns since I left
my accidence at the High School of Tours--not till to-day. Hunc! hanc!
hoc! I shall be jolted to jelly! Hunc! hanc! hoc!"

Philibert laughed at the classical reminiscences of his guide; but,
fearing that Pothier might fall off his horse, which he straddled like
a hay-fork, he stopped to allow the worthy notary to recover his breath
and temper.

"I hope the world appreciates your learning and talent, and that it uses
you more gently than that horse of yours," remarked he.

"Oh, your Honor! it is kind of you to rein up by the way. I find no
fault with the world if it find none with me. My philosophy is this,
that the world is as men make it."

"As the old saying is,--

"'To lend, or to spend, or to give in,
'Tis a very good world that we live in;
But to borrow, or beg, or get a man's own,
'Tis the very worst world that ever was known.'

And you consider yourself in the latter category, Master Pothier?"
Philibert spoke doubtingly, for a more self-complacent face than his
companion's he never saw--every wrinkle trembled with mirth; eyes,
cheeks, chin, and brows surrounded that jolly red nose of his like a
group of gay boys round a bonfire.

"Oh, I am content, your Honor! We notaries are privileged to wear furred
cloaks in the