"Why, I walk along, looking straight in front, when behind me a shot is fired. I feel the pain. I call out; the pain indeed is no little; see, the bullet cut my scalp three inches long, at least. A little lower, and without doubt I am a dead man." "And you did not see who fired?" "No, how can I? I turn round; but the villain hears you as you come, and he escapes. That way I hear him go." He pointed in the direction suggested by Arthur. "It was some robber, without doubt," he added. Jack looked uneasily around. Where was the man? Perhaps still in the copse ready to repeat his shot. But with another glance at the victim Jack felt that there was something strange in his story. Who would rob an ill-clad, dirty-looking fellow like this? He did not appear worth the pains. And what had brought him to the Hollow? He was certainly a foreigner; the copse was off the highway; what was he doing there? From beneath his black shaggy brows the man was keenly watching. Apparently he saw by Jack’s expression that doubts were crossing his mind. Still dabbing his head he began to speak again. "I am unlucky. I am of Spitalfields, a silk weaver. At Wickham Ferrers I have at the inn fine silks. I visit the nobility and gentry; they give me orders. I am on my way to the house of Mr. Bastable—the squire, people call him. He is rich; his lady will buy my silks." "But this is not the way to Mr. Bastable’s." "Is it not? They told me there was a short cut through the wood. Ah! the villains! It is a trap. They had me here to shoot me. Yes, that is it." "And your samples?" The man started. "Yes, my samples," he said hurriedly, looking round. "They steal them. But I have others at Wickham Ferrers, at the inn. I go for them at once." He rose as he spoke. Erect, he stood a head shorter than Jack. "I beg you keep close to me till we are out of the wood. Ah! I feel sick, I am not able to walk so far. I am shaken; I can not wait on a lady this evening. Can you tell me a lodging in the village?" "Do you know of one, Arthur?" "There’s old Mother Philpot; she could put him up." "I thank you. Philpot: I will remember the name." The boys walked with him until they reached the edge of the plantation. Then Arthur pointed out the path that led down to the village; the man refused their offer of further assistance, and when he had gone from sight they struck off at an angle toward the Grange. Arthur was greatly excited at the incident, and talked about it all the way home. Jack was puzzled. It seemed so unlikely that a peddler carrying silks should go so far out of his way, and that he should be set upon and robbed of a bundle of samples when the more valuable bulk of his wares lay at Wickham Ferrers. At dinner he mentioned the occurrence. Mr. Bastable was as much annoyed as concerned. "This won’t do," he said. "We’re a peaceable and law-abiding folk here." "The smugglers, cousin?"