end. He was lying on his back upon a straw pallet; they had given him a
couple of horse-blankets, and he seemed to have spent the remainder
of his strength in the exertion of cleaning himself. He was almost
speechless; his quick breathing under the blankets pulled up to his
chin, his glittering, restless black eyes reminded me of a wild bird
caught in a snare. While I was examining him, old Swaffer stood silently
by the door, passing the tips of his fingers along his shaven upper
lip. I gave some directions, promised to send a bottle of medicine, and
naturally made some inquiries.

"'Smith caught him in the stackyard at New Barns,' said the old chap in
his deliberate, unmoved manner, and as if the other had been indeed a
sort of wild animal. 'That's how I came by him. Quite a curiosity, isn't
he? Now tell me, doctor--you've been all over the world--don't you think
that's a bit of a Hindoo we've got hold of here.'

"I was greatly surprised. His long black hair scattered over the straw
bolster contrasted with the olive pallor of his face. It occurred to
me he might be a Basque. It didn't necessarily follow that he should
understand Spanish; but I tried him with the few words I know, and also
with some French. The whispered sounds I caught by bending my ear to
his lips puzzled me utterly. That afternoon the young ladies from the
Rectory (one of them read Goethe with a dictionary, and the other had
struggled with Dante for years), coming to see Miss Swaffer, tried their
German and Italian on him from the doorway. They retreated, just the
least bit scared by the flood of passionate speech which, turning on his
pallet, he let out at them. They admitted that the sound was pleasant,
soft, musical--but, in conjunction with his looks perhaps, it was
startling--so excitable, so utterly unlike anything one had ever heard.
The village boys climbed up the bank to have a peep through the little