"The more he throws things at the hens, the more they pester him.

It is half a loaf this time.

See." The hen had gone back into the doorway in a hurry, and now retired behind the hut with the bread, to be joined there by hurrying friends.
"The pigs will come in a minute," our hermit said, chuckling and rubbing his hands together.

"They know that Fergus hurls what comes first without heed of what it may be." He half stayed to watch, and then remembered that he was not alone or with some of his brethren.

We had been silent as we came, and he had gone before us with the dog in front of him, musing.