in turn slinging the jug over the crooked
elbow.

The poacher rose, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and made
straight for his new gun.

"You two," he said, with a wave of his arm, "you settle it among
yourselves. Jacqueline, is it true that Le Bihan saw woodcock dropping
into the fen last night?"

"He says so."

"He is not a liar--usually," observed the poacher. He touched his
beret to me, flung the fowling-piece over his shoulder, picked up a
canvas bag in which I heard cartridges rattling, stepped into his
sabots, and walked away. In a few moments the hysterical yelps of a
dog, pleased at the prospect of a hunt, broke out from the net-shed.

Jacqueline placed the few dishes in a pan of hot water, wiped her
fingers, daintily, and picked up Ange Pitou, who promptly acknowledged
the courtesy by bursting into a crackling purring.

"Show me the swimming-suit," she said, shyly.

I drew it out of the satchel and laid it across my knees.

"Oh, it has a little tail behind--like a fish!" she cried, enchanted.
"I shall look like the silver grilse of Quimperle!"

"Do you think you can swim in those scales?" I asked.

"Swim? I--Jacqueline? Attendez un peu--you shall see!"

She laughed an excited, confident little laugh and hugged Ange Pitou,
who closed his eyes in ecstasy sheathing and unsheathing his sharp
claws.

"It is almost sunrise," I said.

"It lacks many minutes to sunrise," she replied. "Ask Ange Pitou. At
sunrise he leaves me; nothing can hold him; he does not bite or
scratch, he just pushes and pulls until my arms are tired. Then he
goes. It is always so."

"Why does he do that?"

"Ask him. I have often asked, but he never tells me--do you, my
friend? I think he's a moor-sprite--perhaps a devil. Do devils hate
all kinds of water?"

"No, only holy water," I replied.

"Well, then, he's something else. Look! Look! He is beginning! See
him push to get free, see him drive his furry head into my hands. The
sun is coming up out of the sea! It will soon be here."

She opened her arms; the cat sprang to the doorstep and vanished.

Jacqueline looked at the swimming-suit, then at me. "Will you go down
to the beach, M'sieu Scarlett?"

But I had not traversed half the strip of rock and hard sand before
something flew past--a slim, glittering shape which suddenly doubled
up, straightened again, and fell headlong into the thundering surf.

The waves hurled her from crest to crest, clothing her l