The ladies were still complimenting L’Isle on his refutation of Moodie’s tenets, so obnoxious to their own convictions, when they met a peasant trudging along, cujado in hand, with the small end of which he occasionally enlivened the motions of an ass toiling under a heavy sack of grain.  The muleteer stopped him to enquire where they might find water for their animals in this thirsty land.  The peasant pointed back to a thicket near the road, and said:  “I would have watered my own beast there, but for the would have watered my own beast there, but for the company I would have fallen among.”  He then went on his way, and they rode to the spot pointed out, where among the oleander and buckthorn bushes they found a puddle rather than a spring, so well had it been lately stirred up.  A gang of eight or nine vagrants, who had been munching their crusts and sardinhas in the shade, now sprung up, and placing themselves between the travelers and the water, vociferously demanded alms.  To rid themselves of this motley troop, L’Isle and Mrs. Shortridge threw each of them a small coin.  They were not so easily satisfied, but thrusting themselves among the horses, continued to rival each other in whining petitions and adjurations of their favorite saints.  Lady Mabel, who had emptied her purse of small coin the evening before, now entreated Moodie to let this second opportunity of alms-giving, so manifestly sent for his benefit, soften his stony heart.  But he shook his head grimly, saying:  “If they are strong enough to travel, they are strong enough to work; and work they shall, or starve, before they touch a penny of mine!”

L’Isle’s short tempered groom, availing himself of the impatience of a thirsty horse, now turned his about, at once spurring and reining him in, which made him lash out his heels at the intruders near him.  The other steeds seemed to catch this infectious restiveness, and the beggars were driven to a safer distance.  Their horses now could drink in peace of the water stirred up and muddied by their mendicant friends, whom they presently left behind them, without further heeding their continued and vociferous appeals.  One stout ragged fellow put himself in their way, and displayed to their eyes a flaming picture, painted on a board, depicting the torments of the souls in purgatory.  But the travelers were in a hurry, and unmoved at the sight, left the souls in unmitigated tortures there.

“What we have just seen,” said L’Isle to the ladies, “may convince you that beggars are a formidable class in this country.  They ramble about, and infest every place, not entreating charity, but demanding it.  They often assemble at night in hordes, at the best country house they can find, and taking up their abode in one of the out-buildings, call for whatever they want, like travelers at an inn; and here they claim the right of tarrying three days, if they like it.  When a gang of these sturdy fellows meets a traveler on the highway, he must offer them money; and it sometimes happens that the amount of the offering is not left to his own discretion.  St. Anthony assails him on one side, St. Francis on the other.  Having satisfied their clamor in behalf of these favorite saints, he is next attacked for the honor of the Virgin; and thus they rob him, for the love of God.”