“They are many--as to the isolation of their camps; as to their tenure of land or carrying of weapons; as to buying or selling food; as to their right to enter a church by the common door, to take the middle of the street, to touch a passer-by, to remain in any village of the pure after sundown. They must grow their own flesh, find their own springs, wear, each man, woman, and child the duck-foot badge, that they may be known and shunned. Indeed, I cannot tell a tithe of the laws that control them.” “But for what reason are they set apart?” “Little mother of God! how can I say? They are Cagots, they are accursed--that is all I know.” Even as she spoke an angry brabble of voices came to them from the direction of the path by which the outcast had retreated; and in a moment the man himself reappeared, scuttling along in a stooping posture, and hauling by the ear his recovered pig, that squeaked passionately as it was urged forward. But now in his wake came a posse of louts--young chawbacons drawn from the fields--who pelted the poor wretch with clods of clay, and were for baiting him, it seemed, in a crueller manner. Ned ran down and placed himself between victim and pursuers. The former, bruised and breathless, pattered out a hurried fire of explanation and entreaty. The young gentleman faced the little mob--half-a-dozen or so--that had closed upon itself--compact claypolism. “What do you want with this man?” he said. His demand evoked a clamour of vituperation. “What is that to you? It is the law! The mongrel is accursed--_l’âme damnée--le tison d’enfer_! Down with this insolent the stranger! he is a Cagot himself!” Ned waited calmly for the tumult to subside. “I ask you what this man has done?” said he. “Cannot you tell the heretic by his smell? Oh-a-eh! here is a fine Catholic nose! Out of our way--the pig is forfeit!” They hissed and yelped, and raised a shrill chorus of “baas” at the unfortunate. Curiously, he seemed to feel this last form of insult more acutely than any. Suddenly a clod of earth, aimed presumably at the poor creature, hurtled through the air and struck Ned’s shoulder in passing. It might have rebounded on the assailant, so immediate was the retribution that followed. The erst-calm paladin _went_ for the vermin like a terrier, and like a terrier repaid his own punishment with interest.