morning, where the rich soil
made them disposed to grow rampant, old Tummus came upon "the very
moral" of the pear his old woman would like. It was big, mellow, and
streaked with vermilion and patched with gold; and had evidently lain
there two nights, for its fragrant odour had attracted a slug, which had
carved a couple of round cells in the side, close to where the round
black hole betrayed where the maggot lived, and sundry other marks
showed that it was still at hand.

Tummus picked up that pear and laid it in the green cup formed by a
young broccoli plant, went on with his hoeing till the bell rang, and
was half-way to the gate, stick and lunch-basket in hand, when he
remembered the pear, and hurried back--that is to say, he walked back--
not quite so slowly as usual, for Tummus never ran. A man that came
from "his parts" remembered that the old man had been known to run once,
at some cottagers' festival, but that was ages before, and ever since he
had walked very deliberately.

Anyhow, he found the pear, and was returning to cut across the green
path, when he caught sight of Daniel Barnett, and stopped short.

"I forgetted as poor old Dunton's dead," he thought, "He'll turn nasty
if I ask him about the pear; and what's he a-doing of?"

Old Tummus peered through a great row of scarlet-runners and stared at
his superior, and saw him bend over something on the green path, and
then dart in among the bushes and disappear.

"Now what is he doing of?" old Tummus muttered. "Not a-going to--Why
here comes poor Master Grange. Well, he couldn't have seen him. Not
a-setting o' no more traps, is he?"

Old Tummus watched for a moment or two, and then walked right across the
borders to reach the green path, breathless, just before John Grange
came up, and shouted loudly--

"Ware well!"

It was just in time, for in another instant the blind man's ankle would
have struck severely against the keen scythe edge, which by accident or
malignant design was so placed that its cut would have proved most
dangerous, that is to say, in a slightly diagonal position--that is, it
would have produced what is known to swordsmen as a draw-cut.

But the poor fellow escaped, for, at the first warning of danger he
stopped short, erect in his place, with his nostrils widening and face
turned towards the speaker.

"Well?" he cried. "Impossible! I am three parts of the way along the
green path."

"Aye, that's so, Muster Grange," s