"I am not. I have seen and tasted it, and I have brought some of it with me. The doctor himself admitted that the county authorities had sent a large trunk of poison hither, and were going to make us drink it. The box was in my hand. I lifted it down from the carriage. Divine Providence so ordered that it fell from my hands, and a whitish powder poured out of it. The whole box was full of that powder. The doctor was horribly frightened, and swore at me like anything for my clumsiness. I _saw_ him, I tell you, he grew quite yellow. I merely asked whether this medicine might not be for the cattle, but he savagely snatched it from my hand, and said he would make our heads ache with it." "Is that true?" asked a terrified boor on the other side of the table. "As true as I'm alive. The doctor immediately ordered the domestics to sweep the spilt powder away lest one of the animals should taste it and perish instantly; but I managed to scrape together a little of it first, and here it is in the corner of my handkerchief." And the Leather-bell undid his handkerchief and poured the powder out upon the table. The boors, with the fearful inquisitiveness of professed connoisseurs, carefully regarded the strange awe-inspiring powder from every side--so this was the murderous instrument of extirpation. Some of them had heard, somewhere or other, that it was usual to make preliminary experiments with such poisons on the brute-beasts. One of them accordingly smeared a piece of bread with the powder, and offered it to a large shepherd's dog extended at his ease beneath the table. The dog sniffed at the morsel but would not touch it. "Poison! poison!" cried those who stood around full of horror. "Didn't I say so!" cried the Leather-bell, with a radiant face; but his joyful triumph was very speedily embittered, for when he least expected such a distinction, he became sensible that the long hazel cudgel of the village justice was unmercifully belabouring his back and shoulders. "You good-for-nothing, lying wind-bag you, how dare you calumniate your own landlord? You hound of the whole village, you! that barks at every man behind his back, and licks his hand when he faces you. You dare to come hither with such idle stories at a time when there's already far too much discord among the people! You good-for-nothing vagabond! What! I suppose you want the peasant folks to beat the landlords to death, burn their castles to the ground, and rob them of everything? Coward and rebel as you are, the gallows-tree is far too good for you. I tell you what it is. I'll put you in irons and send you to the county jail, and there you may sit till your turn comes to stand before the judges. You incendiary, you!" The Leather-bell was thoroughly scared, he began to hedge. "Alas! my dear sweet Mr. Justice, and my good friend, don't be angry! God bless me! Why should I wish our landlord beaten to death? God preserve us from anything so dreadful." "Who are you aiming at then?"