up the riddle. Then their impudence
became unbounded; they helped themselves to the maize whenever they
felt disposed to do so, and stared at me with the utmost effrontery as
they sat upon their haunches nibbling; they ran races under the tiles
and held pitched battles upon the rafters. Talking one day to the
proprietor of the house about his rats and other live stock, I tried
to excite and distress him by describing the depredation that went on
day and night in the loft. But it was with a calm bordering on
satisfaction that he listened to my story. Then he told me that the
rats ate about two sacks of maize every year.

'And you do not put it elsewhere?' 'Non pas! I leave it here for
them.'

'For the rats?'

'Certainly, for the rats. If I did not give them plenty of maize they
would eat a hundred francs' worth of linen in a single winter. It is
an economy to feed them.'

And there were about a dozen string-tailed cats about the place that
never ventured into the loft. They must have been either afraid or too
lazy to attack the rats in their stronghold. A man who could accept a
plague of rodents in this philosophical spirit could not be otherwise
than mild in his dealings with all animals, including men. My old
friend liked to let every creature live and enjoy existence. He became
so fond of his pigs that it grieved him sorely to have one killed.
Much domestic diplomacy had to be used before the fatal order could be
wrung from him. He would have gone on fattening the beast for ever had
he been allowed, soothing his conscience over the waste with the vague
hope that this pig of exceptional loveliness and vigour would grow to
the size of a donkey if it were permitted to take its time. He never
worried his _metayer_ over money matters, or insisted upon seeing that
everything was equally divided. Notwithstanding, that he had been made
to smart all his life for his trustfulness and indolent good-nature,
experience had taught him nothing of this world's wisdom. No beggar,
although known to be a worthless rascal, ever asked him for a piece of
bread or a night's lodging in his barn without obtaining it. The old
man would lock his ragged guest up for the night, and before letting
him out in the morning would often carry some soup to him--stealthily,
however, so as not to be observed. As he was always ready to give, and
hated every harsh measure, it was to his wood that the unscrupulous
went in winter, when they wanted fuel.