and a child not breeched; and in addition to all these, and to Belviso
and myself, to a sow in farrow, four goats, and hens innumerable, the
good man's father was posed as veritable master of the whole--an old man
afflicted with palsy, who did nothing but shake and suck at his pipe,
but who, nevertheless, had, by virtue of his years and situation, the
only semblance of a bed, the first of everything, and the best and the
most of that. The rest of us, higgledy-piggledy, lay by night on the
mud-floor, with a little pease-straw for litter, and scrambled all
together for the remnants of the old tyrant's food. Yet nobody
questioned his absolute right, and nobody seemed unhappy, nor looked out
at any prospect but unremitting, barely remunerative labour from year's
end to year's end. This is, I am now convinced, the true philosophy of
life--that labour is a man's only riches, and food, shelter, rest, and
the satisfaction of appetite his means whereby to grow rich. In other
walks of life the practice is reversed, and labour is looked upon as the
means, appetite and comfort as the end. Inconceivable folly! since
labour alone brings health, and health content. But I must relate how I
was cozened out of my own healthy contentment.

One day, when I was afield in the vines not far from the high road which
ran from Sinalunga to still distant Arezzo, as I was resting on my hoe
in the furrow, I saw a man come by walking a pretty good horse. He was
an elderly, bearded man, very portly, and wore the brown garb of the
Capuchins, which I certainly had no reason to love. His bald head,
gleaming in the sun, was of the steep and flat-topped shape of our
English quartern-loaves; and it came upon me with a shock that here was
that Fra Palamone, whom I had last seen extended, shot by my hand, in
the Piazza Santa Maria at Florence. This alarming discovery was verified
by his nearer approach. I recognised his twinkling, tireless eyes, his
one long tooth, like a tusk, and even the scar on his right brow. It was