"Poor Peti!" cried Akosh with a great show of sentiment. "The country cannot boast of a man more gifted, more useful. When a house is built, it is he who makes the bricks; when a lock is out of order, he puts it to rights. He is a born blessing to property. He shoes your horse and fastens your spurs; there is not a wedding but he plays the first fiddle at it; nay, he is useful to the last moment of your life, for he digs your grave. It is said of him that, in his youth, he served the state as a hangman. Truly, truly, the world is ungrateful to great men, but still more so to useful men!"
"I don't see anything to laugh at," said Mr. Skinner, looking still more solemn and black than was his wont. "Possibly there is a case for a 'statarium.' As for me, I don't think it is your old gipsy, but if——"
"If it is not Peti," cried Akosh, laughing; "if that fellow dares to sport a white skin, there is not, of course, any obstacle to his being hanged."
"Enough of this! who says the fellow yonder is not a gipsy? but I say, who knows whether that old rascal, whom you mistake for an innocent musician——?"
"Has not masqueraded as a gipsy all along! But you will bring the truth to light. You, Skinner, will skin the culprit. You'll strip him of his brown hide; you'll show the world that Viola the great robber is identical with Peti the gipsy."
"Don't make a fool of me, sir! I won't suffer it!" cried the justice, whose pipe had gone out with the excess of his rage. "Paul Skinner is not the man whom you can fool, I can tell you! But never mind; who knows what that fellow Peti has done all his life besides brick-making? and I apprehend that if he set out with being a hangman, he'll end with being a hanged man."
This said, the justice lighted his pipe, muttering his imprecations against untimely jokes and bad tinder.
Poor Peti had meanwhile proceeded to a distance of five hundred yards from the Turk's Hill; and so great was the good man's natural politeness, that even at that distance he bowed to the party on the hill. Little did he know the intensity of Paul Skinner's rage; but the first words of the worthy magistrate showed him that it was an evil hour, indeed, in which he had come before his judge.
"Hast at last gone into the snare, thou precious bird?" thundered Skinner. "Never mind, you old rascal! never mind! I'll pay you, and with a vengeance, too!"
"Most sublime——" sighed the wretched musician; but the justice, unmindful of this appeal to his better feelings, continued:—
"Hold your tongue! I know all! all, I tell you. And if you will not confess, I'll freshen your memory!"
"Most sublime Lord!" sighed Peti; "I am an innocent, poor, old man. I——"
"Dog!" retorted Mr. Skinner. "If you dare to bark, I'll pull your ears, that you shall not forget it to the day of judgment. Is it not horrible? the profligate fellow would give me the lie!"
"No, sweet, gracious Lord!" cried Peti, weeping; "I do not deny any thing, but——"
"It's better for you; at all events, we need not ask you any questions. The judge knows every thing." Turning to the Pandurs, Mr. Skinner added: "Now Janosh, tell me, what did you bring that culprit for?"
"Only because we have been told to arrest all suspicious characters."
"Ah!" cried Akosh, "and the old musician is a suspicious character! You are fine fellows, and ought to be promoted!"
"We'll see that by and by!" snarled Mr. Skinner. "Now tell us, Janosh, what is the old rascal's crime?"
"Why," said the Pandur, "the long and the short of it is, that it was about three o'clock,—was it not, Pishta?—after having had our dinner and rest at the Murder-Tsharda, we rode up to St. Vilmosh forest. We had been on our legs from an early hour this morning, and were apprehensive that we should not be able to obey his worship's orders about arresting at least one suspicious character, when Pishta spied a horseman near St. Vilmosh forest, and a man to whom he was talking. 'Suppose this is Viola,' said Pishta, who was just lighting his pipe. 'Ah, indeed! suppose this is Viola!' said I; and when I looked at the horseman, I thought it was——"
"Viola?" said Mr. Skinner, with a voice which left no doubt about the answer which he expected.
"I'm sure it was he, your worship," replied Janosh; "I'll bet any thing it was he."
"Now this fellow is short-sighted," interrupted Akosh; "I wonder how many robbers Pishta saw."
"We'll see that by and by!" said Mr. Skinner, angrily. "The devil may be a judge when robbers and vagabonds find such protection. Go on. What happened next? Did you see any thing more of the criminal?"
"How was it possible? We spurred our horses on, but the poor beasts were so tired they would not run; and when we came to the place, we found no one but the old gipsy, walking to St. Vilmosh."
"Well?" said the judge impatiently.
"Of course they handcuffed him, for who knows what outrage he might have committed if he had come to St. Vilmosh," cried Akosh. "They are the very fellows to be sent after robbers. They will soon starve all robbers, by preventing honest men from leaving their houses."
Old Peti saw that he had found a protector. Growing bolder, he asked to be freed from his handcuffs, and though the justice opposed, he yielded at length to the entreaties of Kalman, Akosh, and Vandory, though not without muttering something about "patibulandus" and "fautores criminum."
"And what happened when you came up with the gipsy?" said Mr. Skinner, again addressing the Pandurs. "Was there any thing very suspicious about the old hang-dog scoundrel?"
"There was indeed!" said Janosh, twirling his moustache. "When we came up with the gipsy,—which was rather late, for the old Moor ran very fast,—Pishta called out to him, at which he appeared frightened."
"Frightened?" said Mr. Skinner. "Frightened, indeed; I'd be glad to know the reason;" and the Clerk, shaking his head, added, "This is indeed suspicious!"
"Begging your lordship's pardon," cried the gipsy, "the gentlemen swore at me, and cocked their pistols, which made me believe that they were robbers."
"Hold your tongue, you cursed black dog! If you say another word, you shall have beating enough to last you a twelvemonth." Having thus mildly admonished the prisoner, Mr. Skinner proceeded with the "benevolum." "Go on, Janosh," said he.
And Janosh went on: "Upon this Pishta asked him, 'Where is Viola?' and he answered, 'I never saw him.'"
"But we saw him in conversation with Viola!" cried the second Pandur. "I said, 'Peti, you are a liar; we have seen you talking to Viola! and unless you confess it, we'll make you dance to a queer kind of music."
"What did the gipsy say to that?" asked the Clerk.
"He said he did not know who the horseman was, which made me angry; for your worship is aware that Peti knows every body. When he saw me angry, he wanted to run away."
"Oh, Goodness gracious!" cried the gipsy; "why should I not run away, when they fell to beating me, and offered to handcuff me?"
"An honest man," said Kenihazy sententiously, "cares not for handcuffs."
"I thought so too," quoth Janosh; "therefore, when we saw that he was indeed a criminal, we hunted him down, bound his hands, and took him to his worship."
"You did your duty," said Mr. Skinner. "Now take the old fox to my house. To-morrow we'll commit him to gaol."
"But," cried Peti, "I assure your worship I am as innocent as the babe unborn!"
"I dare say you are!" said the justice with a bitter sneer. "You don't know Viola,—of course you don't. Who shod Viola's horse? eh?"
"Yes, I do know him," sighed the gipsy; "but is it my fault that I lived in the same village with him Heaven knows how long! for Viola was the best man in the world before he fell into the hands of the County Court. I confess that I did