moment banished the scowl. "I want no servant. I can serve myself well
enough. And, truly, it seems to me that a man like you should be
ashamed to talk of service. You are more fitted for a master than a
servant. I trow you must have some bad motive for seeking service with
a man like me. Have you murdered any one, that you flee from the face
of your fellows and seek to hide you here?"

"No, I am not a murderer."

"What then? Are you desirous of becoming one, and making me your
victim?" asked the hunter, with a look of contempt; "for you will find
that no easy job, stout though you be. I have a good mind to crack your
crown for coming here to disturb my solitude!"

"Two can play at that game," replied Bladud, with a seraphic smile.
"But I am truly a man of peace. I merely want to look after your cattle
for occupation; I will gladly live in the woods, away from your
dwelling, if you will let me serve you--my sole desire being, like your
own, to live--and, if need be, to die--alone."

For a few moments there was a softened expression on the hunter's face
as he asked, in a tone that had something almost of sympathy in it--

"Is there a woman at the bottom of this?"

"No. Woman has nothing to do with it--at least, not exactly--not
directly," returned Bladud.

"Hah!" exclaimed the man, paying no regard to the modification implied
in the answer; and advancing a step, with eager look, "did she tempt you
on and then deceive you; and scorn you, and forsake you for another
man?"

"You mistake me. The poor woman I was thinking of was an old one,
labouring under a deadly disease."

On hearing this the hunter's softened look vanished, and his former
scowl returned.

"Go!" he said, sternly; "I can take care of the cattle myself, without
help. But stay, a man of your peaceful nature and humility may,
perchance, not be too proud to take charge of pigs."

Bladud flushed--not so much because of the proposal as the tone of
contempt in which it was uttered; but, remembering his condition and his
object, he mastered his feelings.

"I am willing to take charge of your pigs," he said, in a quiet tone;
"where do they feed?"

"A goodish bit from here. Not far from the Hot Swamp, that lies on the
other side of the hill."

The man pointed to a high ridge, just visible beyond the gully in which
his hut lay concealed, which was clothed from base to summit with dense
forest.

"There are plenty of pigs there," he con