We see
plainly enough that you are bad men, brigands, _nobodies_, liars. Go
somewhere else and sing your silly songs; we are on our guard, and you
won't get in here.
THE GRAVE-DIGGER.
Alas! my dear man, have pity on us! We are not pilgrims, as you have
rightly guessed; but we are unfortunate poachers pursued by the keepers.
The gendarmes are after us, too, and, if you don't let us hide in your
hay-loft, we shall be caught and taken to prison.
THE HEMP-BEATER.
But what proof have we this time that you are what you say? for here is
one falsehood already that you could not follow up.
THE GRAVE-DIGGER.
If you will open the door, we will show you a fine piece of game we have
killed.
THE HEMP-BEATER.
Show it now, for we are suspicious.
THE GRAVE-DIGGER.
Well, open a door or a window, so that we can pass in the creature.
THE HEMP-BEATER.
Oh! nay, nay! not such fools! I'm looking at you through a little hole,
and I see neither hunters nor game.
At that point, a drover's boy, a thick-set youth of herculean strength,
came forth from the group in which he had been standing unnoticed, and
held up toward the window a goose all plucked and impaled on a stout
iron spit, decorated with bunches of straw and ribbons.
"Hoity-toity!" cried the hemp-beater, after he had cautiously put out an
arm to feel the bird; "that's not a quail or a partridge, a hare or a
rabbit; it looks like a goose or a turkey.
Pages:
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135