and hearty.

'As for who did it, Sir Baron,' he cried, is a cheery tone, 'I am the
man! As you may like to know why--and that's due to you and me both of
us--all I can say is, the Black Muzzle yonder lying got his settler for
merry-making with this peaceful maiden here, without her consent--an
offence in my green island they reckon a crack o' the sconce light
basting for, I warrant all company present,' and he nodded sharply about.
'As for the other there, who looks as if a rope had been round his neck
once and shirked its duty, he counts his wages for helping the devil in
his business, as will any other lad here who likes to come on and try.'

Werner himself, probably, would have given him the work he wanted; but
his eye had sidled a moment over Margarita, and the hardly-suppressed
applause of the crowd at the stranger's speech failed to bring his ire
into action this solitary time.

'Who is the maiden?' he asked aloud.

'Fraulein von Groschen,' replied Farina.

'Von Groschen! Von Groschen! the daughter of Gottlieb Groschen?--
Rascals!' roared the Baron, turning on his men, and out poured a mud-
spring of filthy oaths and threats, which caused Henker Rothhals, who had
opened his eyes, to close them again, as if he had already gone to the
place of heat.

'Only lend me thy staff, friend,' cried Werner.

'Not I! thwack 'em with your own wood,' replied the stranger, and fell