He took his pole and reached after that goose with unspeakable sang froid--took a hitch round his neck, and "yanked" him back to his place in the flock without an effort.

He steered his geese with that stick as easily as another man would steer a yawl.

A few hours afterward we saw him sitting on a stone at a corner, in the midst of the turmoil, sound asleep in the sun, with his geese squatting around him, or dodging out of the way of asses and men.

We came by again, within the hour, and he was taking account of stock, to see whether any of his flock had strayed or been stolen.

The way he did it was unique.