“This fellow was different, mon ami,” the Cure de St. Eustace was saying, “he would almost bother you yourself with all your experience.  He came from over the line—­from the States, and he had a remarkable story.”

“Bien oui, they all have,” broke in his friend, “but I send them to Marie and she feeds them—­nothing more.  They can not trap me with any of their foolish tales.  It is not charity to give to them.  I am hard of heart about such things, and very sensible.”

“Well, I will tell you about him.  It will pass the time till dinner.  I found the man seated on the gallery in front.  He spoke only English.  When I came up he arose and took off his cap, very politely for a Yankee too.  But, God forgive me, I had no right to say that, for the Yankees are as the bon Dieu made them and they are too busy to be polite.

“‘You are the priest?’ he asked me.

“‘Yes, Monsieur, I am.’

“‘You speak English?’

“‘Enough to understand.  What is it?’

“’I am not a tramp, Father,’—­he looked very weary and sad—­’and it is not money; though I am very hungry.  You will give me something?  Thanks, but I want you to hear my story first.  Yes, you can help—­very much.’

“I gave him a seat and he dropped into it.

“’Father, do not be shocked if I tell you that I am just out of prison.  I was discharged yesterday in New York and I lost no time in coming here.  This is not my first visit.  I was here ten years ago with my chum.  We were burglars and we were running away after a big operation in New York.  We had stolen $8,000 in money and valuables, and we had it all with us.  We wanted to rest here in this quiet village till the storm would blow over.  Among the valuables was a strange ring.  I had never seen anything like it and my chum wanted it for himself, but we were afraid and took it to one of your jewelers—­right down the street to the left—­Nadeau was his name—­to have it altered a little and made safe to wear.  That little jeweler suspected us.  I saw it at once and we were alarmed.  He informed the constable of the ring matter.  We were watched and then we saw that it would be better to go.  We feared that the New York police would learn of us, so we took the stuff out three miles in the country one dark night and buried it.  I know the spot, for it is near the old school where the road turns for Sherbrooke.  Then we went West, to Michigan.  We broke into a store there and we were arrested, but New York heard of the capture and the Michigan authorities gave us up.  We were tried and a lawyer defended us by the Judge’s order.  He got us off with ten years in Sing Sing.  I have been there till yesterday, as I told you.  My chum?  Well, that brings me to it.  Pardon me.  I did not intend to break down.  He is dead.  He died well.  A priest converted him, and my chum repented of his life and begged me to change mine when I got out.  I am going to do it, Father.  I am, so help me God.  I’ll never forget his death.  He called me and said:  ’Bunky, that loot is worrying me.  The priest says that it must be returned if the owner or his heirs can be found.  If they can not it must be spent in works of charity.  Promise me that you will go to St. Eustace and get it, Bunky, and give it back.  Promise!’