'Oh, it's you, Monsieur le Cure?' he growled. 'Just fancy, this rascal
is always poking his nose into the graveyard. I don't know what he can
be up to here. I ought to let go of him and let him smash his skull down
there. It would be what he deserves.'

The lad remained dumb, with his cunning eyes tight shut as he clung to
the bushes.

'Take care, Brother Archangias,' continued the priest, 'he might slip.'

And he himself helped Vincent to scramble up again.

'Come, my young friend, what were you doing there?' he asked. 'You must
not go playing in graveyards.'

The lad had opened his eyes, and crept away, fearfully, from the
Brother, to place himself under the priest's protection.

'I'll tell you,' he said in a low voice, as he raised his bushy head.
'There is a tomtit's nest in the brambles there, under that rock. For
over ten days I've been watching it, and now the little ones are
hatched, so I came this morning after serving your mass.'

'A tomtit's nest!' exclaimed Brother Archangias. 'Wait a bit! wait a
bit!'

Thereupon he stepped aside, picked a clod of earth off a grave and flung
it into the brambles. But he missed the nest. Another clod, however,
more skilfully thrown upset the frail cradle, and precipitated the
fledglings into the torrent below.