But he was unable to live out of his native land, and he returned to Corsica without asking the permission of either Judge or General. He went back to his native village, and the police very wisely left him in peace. The villagers treated him as a hero, and were more than a little proud of the fact that he had once more come to live amongst them. He gave no more trouble, looked after his chestnut-trees, tended his farm, and in his spare moments hunted the wild boar and the wild sheep. In the evening he would tell stories of his adventurous career to a few chosen friends, and occasionally he would even condescend to go to the village inn and take a hand at cards with the soldiers. To the end of his life he remained a fine, handsome old man. He had a long snowy beard, a grave sweet face, and bright sparkling eyes. No one, looking at him, would have taken him for anything but one of the kindest and tenderest of men. He died in 1907, over eighty years of age, having passed fifty years of his life in hiding amongst his native thickets. As the French are gradually tightening their hold upon the island, brigandage of this kind must ere long happily become a thing of the past. The young men of the present day are already beginning to realize that there are finer ways of spending their lives than in wandering in wild places, fugitives from justice. [Illustration: A DILIGENCE. _Page 75._] CHAPTER XIV BY THE ROAD-SIDE In whatever country you travel, sit awhile by the road-side. If it be a small country, and you sit down for an hour or two, you may see and hear much that is typical of the land you are visiting. Do not stay only in towns; go out into the country places and watch, and make friends with the people who live upon the soil. Let us ramble out towards one of the lonely places that are so plentiful in the little island about which we are speaking. Any road and almost any direction will do. We need not hesitate for long. In many respects the sights to be seen are much the same. Sometimes, it is true, the highway lies by the side of a foaming torrent, hurrying over stones and boulders to join the sea; sometimes it climbs amongst untrodden snows; sometimes it creeps along the edge of the foam-clad blue, or wanders through a grove of tall and silent pines. But we are not out to see the scenery so much as the things that men do and make. Just over yonder there is a tawny-skinned man in soiled shirt and trousers, and wearing heavy boots. He is a _cantonnier_, or road-mender. The high-roads of the island are under the care of the French Government. They are excellent. Being cut mostly in the granite, the surface is hard, smooth, and free from dust. So gently do they ascend the mountain-sides, zigzagging backwards and forwards with easy slopes, that carriage-drives can be comfortably taken over the highest passes in the island.