e claws of a spider. Its trunk was
tiny, and round as a nut.

"The child was born in an open field, and when the weeders saw it, they
fled away, screaming, and the report spread that she had given birth to a
demon. From that time on, she was called 'the Devil.'

"She was driven from the farm, and lived on charity, under a cloud. She
brought up the monster, whom she hated with a savage hatred, and would
have strangled, perhaps, if the priest had not threatened her with
arrest.

"One day some travelling showmen heard about the frightful creature, and
asked to see it, so that if it pleased them they might take it away. They
were pleased, and counted out five hundred francs to the mother. At
first, she had refused to let them see the little animal, as she was
ashamed; but when she discovered it had a money value, and that these
people were anxious to get it, she began to haggle with them, raising her
price with all a peasant's persistence.

"She made them draw up a paper, in which they promised to pay her four
hundred francs a year besides, as though they had taken this deformity
into their employ.

"Incited by the greed of gain, she continued to produce these phenomena,
so as to have an assured income like a bourgeoise.

"Some of them were long, some short, some like crabs-all bodies-others
like lizards. Several died, and she was heartbroken.

"The law tried to interfere, but as they had no proof they let her
continue to produce her freaks.

"She has at this moment eleven alive, and they bring in, on an average,
counting good and bad years, from five to six thousand francs a year.
One, alone, is not placed, the one she was unwilling to show us. But she
will not keep it long, for she is known to all the showmen in the world,
who come from time to time to see if she has anything new.

"She even gets bids from them when the monster is valuable."

My friend was silent. A profound disgust stirred my heart, and a feeling
of rage, of regret, to think that I had not strangled this brute when I
had the opportunity.

I had forgotten this story, when I saw on the beach of a fashionable
resort the other day, an elegant, charming, dainty woman, surrounded by
men who paid her respect as well as admiration.

I was walking along the beach, arm in arm with a friend, the resident
physician. Ten minutes later, I saw a nursemaid with three children, who
were rolling in the sand. A pair of little crutches lay on the ground,
and