“Now if there is one thing, old man,” continued Marny, “that gets me hot around the collar, it is to see a brother sportsman arrested for killing anything that can fly, run, or swim. So I rose from my sketching stool and looked him over: his eyes--not a bit of harm in ‘em; his loose necktie thrown over one shoulder; trim waist, and so on down to the leather leggings buttoned to his knees. If he was a poacher and subject to the law, he certainly was the most picturesque specimen I had met in many a day. I had, of course, never laid eyes on him before, having been but a few days in the village, but that made the situation all the more interesting. To rescue a friend would be commonplace, to rescue a stranger smacked of adventure. “I uncovered my head and bowed to the ground. ‘His Honor shoots almost every day, your Excellency,’ I said to the gendarme. ‘I have seen him frequently with his friends--this young man is no doubt one of them--Let--me--think--was it this morning, or yesterday, I met the Mayor? It is at best a very small rabbit’--here I fingered the head and ears--‘and would probably have died of hunger anyway. However, if any claim should be made by the farmer I will pay the damages’--this with a lordly air, and I with only a week’s board in my pocket. “The gendarme released his hold and stood looking at the young fellow. The day was hot and the village lock-up two miles away. That the rabbit was small and the Mayor an inveterate sportsman were also undeniable facts. “‘Next time,’ he said sententiously, with a scowl, ‘do you let his Honor carry the game home in his own bag,’ and he walked away. “Oh, you just ought to have seen Fiddles skip around when a turn in the road shut out the cocked hat and cross-belts, and heard him pour out his thanks. ‘His name was Wilhelm, he cried out; it had only been by chance that he had got separated from his friends. Where did I live? Would I let him give me the rabbit for a stew for my dinner? Was I the painter who had come to the inn? If so he had heard of me. Could he and his friends call upon me that night? He would never forget my kindness. What was the use of being a gentleman if you couldn’t help another gentleman out of a scrape? As for Herr Rabbit--the poor little Herr Rabbit-here he stroked his fur--what more honorable end than gracing the table of the Honorable Painter? Ah, these dogs of the law--when would they learn not to meddle with things that did not concern them?” “And did Fiddles come to your inn, Marny?” I asked, merely as a prod to keep him going.