If I were you, I'd be careful that gay furriner _didn steal more'n my name_" Meantime, a group of four was standing in the middle of Parc Dew, the twenty-acred field behind the farmstead.

The stranger, dressed in a blue jersey and outfit of Farmer Tresidder's, that made up in boots for its shortcomings elsewhere, was addressing the farmer, Ruby, and Jim Lewarne, who heard him with lively attention.

In his right hand he held a walking-stick armed with a spud, for uprooting thistles; and in his left a cake of dark soil, half stone, half mud.

His manner was earnest.
".

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