‘“I am prisoner on parole, Monsieur Gamm,” he said. “I have no home.” ‘Now that was unkind of Rene. He’s often told me that he looked on England as his home. I suppose it’s French politeness. ‘“Then we’ll talk o’ something that matters,” said Jerry. “Not to name no names, Mosheur Lanark, what might be your own opinion o’ some one who ain’t old Gaffer Macklin nor young Copper? Is that person better or worse?” ‘“Better--for time that is,” said Rene. He meant for the time being, but I never could teach him some phrases. ‘“I thought so too,” said Jerry. “But how about time to come?” ‘Rene shook his head, and then he blew his nose. You don’t know how odd a man looks blowing his nose when you are sitting directly above him. ‘“I’ve thought that too,” said Jerry. He rumbled so deep I could scarcely catch. “It don’t make much odds to me, because I’m old. But you’re young, Mosheur--you’re young,” and he put his hand on Rene’s knee, and Rene covered it with his hand. I didn’t know they were such friends. ‘“Thank you, mon ami,” said Rene. “I am much oblige. Let us return to our trumpet-making. But I forget”--he stood up--“it appears that you receive this afternoon!” ‘You can’t see into Gamm’s Lane from the oak, but the gate opened, and fat little Doctor Break stumped in, mopping his head, and half-a-dozen of our people following him, very drunk. ‘You ought to have seen Rene bow; he does it beautifully. ‘“A word with you, Laennec,” said Doctor Break. “Jerry has been practising some devilry or other on these poor wretches, and they’ve asked me to be arbiter.” ‘“Whatever that means, I reckon it’s safer than asking you to be doctor,” said Jerry, and Tom Dunch, one of our carters, laughed. ‘“That ain’t right feeling of you, Tom,” Jerry said, “seeing how clever Doctor Break put away your thorn in the flesh last winter.” Tom’s wife had died at Christmas, though Doctor Break bled her twice a week. Doctor Break danced with rage. ‘“This is all beside the mark,” he said. “These good people are willing to testify that you’ve been impudently prying into God’s secrets by means of some papistical contrivance which this person”--he pointed to poor Rene--“has furnished you with. Why, here are the things themselves!” Rene was holding a trumpet in his hand. ‘Then all the men talked at once. They said old Gaffer Macklin was dying from stitches in his side where Jerry had put the trumpet--they called it the devil’s ear-piece; and they said it left round red witch-marks on people’s skins, and dried up their lights, and made ‘em spit blood, and threw ‘em into sweats. Terrible things they said. You never heard such a noise. I took advantage of it to cough. ‘Rene and Jerry were standing with their backs to the pigsty. Jerry fumbled in his big flap pockets and fished up a pair of pistols. You ought to have seen the men give back when he cocked his. He passed one to Rene.