I was slightly stunned, but I scrambled to my feet just as a heavy hand was laid on my collar, and a gruff voice said: “Vell! here’s a precious go!” I looked up, and saw that the voice and hand belonged to the same person--a short, stout man, with sallow complexion and glistening black eyes. His dress was a curious compound of broad, glazed hat and blue shift of a sailor and the flashy check vest and pantaloons of a peddler. “Vere did you come from, anyhow,” he demanded, before I had finished my survey, “a-busting down on a chap vithout varning, and a smashing of his pots and kettles?” “Pots and kettles?” I repeated, inquiringly. For answer he pointed indignantly to the ground, and then I saw what damage my descent had caused. A rusty coffee-pot, a little dish and a skillet were scattered among the embers of the fire. “That’s vot you did,” said he, resentfully. “Here vos I, a-cooking my supper and a-thinking of just nothink at all, when all of a suddent down you come, like a cannon-ball, and avay goes everythink! It was werry aggerwating because it was nearly done.” “I assure you, sir,” said I, very contritely, “that I had no intention of falling on your fire or your supper.” Then I explained the cause of my sudden descent, and wound up by offering to pay for the damage. By this time the man had entirely recovered his temper--if he had ever lost it, which I very much doubt--and smiled kindly. “Vell, vell, there ain’t much harm done except putting my supper back half an hour. Put up your money, my boy, and join me.” Then he righted the utensils, and whistling a lively air, prepared the meal anew. And this he did with an adroitness that proved the task to be by no means an unusual one. Within half an hour, he had made a pot of coffee, a pan of biscuits and a savory stew, and we were soon discussing this supper very amiably together. After supper he washed out the dishes and utensils in a brook near by, and lying at full length on the ground, composed himself for a smoke. All this time I had been regarding him in silence, but with considerable curiosity, and I had about made up my mind that he was a gipsy, on his way to join his tribe, when he startled me by saying, abruptly: “Look ’ere!” I intimated that I was all attention. “Who are you?” he asked, bluntly. “Jack Wood,” I answered, promptly, although a trifle nervously. “My name is Miles Norris,” he rejoined, after a long pause. “I’m a wender of physics and knickknacs.” “A doctor?” “Not exactly,” he replied, rising on his elbow and winking at me significantly. “I cures people as hasn’t got nothink the matter vith ’em and thinks they has.” This sentence was too deep for me to fathom, and on my intimating as much, he condescended to explain.