had something under my arm that would sway and whack the side of the horse every leap he made.  I bore upon it hard, as if it were the jewel of my soul.  I wondered why, and what it might be.  In a moment the big hole of my hat came into conjunction with my right eye.  On my word, it was the stake!  How it came there I have never known, but, for some reason, I held to it.  I looked neither to right nor left, but sat erect, one hand on the hilt of my sabre, the other in the mane of my horse, knowing full well I was the most hideous-looking creature in the world.  If I had come to the gate of heaven I believe St. Peter would have dropped his keys.  The straw worked up, and a great wad of it hung under my chin like a bushy beard.  I would have given anything for a sight of myself, and laughed to think of it, although facing a deadly peril, as I knew.  But I was young and had no fear in me those days.  Would that a man could have his youth to his death-bed!  It was a leap in the dark, but I was ready to take my chances.

Evidently I was nearing a village.  Groups of men were in the shady thoroughfare; children thronged the dooryards.  There was every sign of a holiday.  As we neared them I caught my sabre under my knee, and drew my hands into the long sleeves and waved them wildly, whooping like an Indian.  They ran back to the fences with a start of fear.  As I passed them they cheered loudly, waving their hats and roaring with laughter.  An old horse, standing before an inn, broke his halter and crashed over a fence.  A scared dog ran for his life in front of me, yelping as he leaped over a stone wall.  Geese and turkeys flew in the air as I neared them.  The people had seemed to take me for some village youth on a masquerade.  We flashed into the open country before the sound of cheering had died away.  On we went over a long strip of hard soil, between fields, and off in the shade of a thick forest.  My horse began to tire.  I tried to calm him by gentle words, but I could give him no confidence in me.  He kept on, laboring hard and breathing heavily, as if I were a ton’s weight.  We came to another clearing and fields of corn.  A little out of the woods, and near the road, was a log house white-washed from earth to eaves.  By the gate my horse went down.  I tumbled heavily in the road, and turning, caught him by the bits.  The big hat had shot off my head; the straw had fallen away.  A woman came running out of the open door.  She had bare feet, a plump and cheery face.

“Tonnerre!” said she.  “Qu’est ce que cela?”

“My countrywoman,” said I, in French, feeling in my under-trousers for a bit of silver, and tossing it to her, “I am hungry.”

“And I have no food to sell,” said she, tossing it back.  “You should know I am of France and not of England.  Come, you shall have enough, and for no price but the eating.  You have a tired horse.  Take him to the stable, and I will make you a meal.”