There, at any rate, he was; and on the day after his arrival, he and the Rector of the parish--who was also a magistrate--took a walk and marked out the bounds together: two miles along the coast to the east, two miles along the coast to the west, and two miles up the valley behind the town.

At the end of these two miles the valley itself branched into two and climbed inland, the road branching likewise; and M.Benest's mark was the signpost at the angle.
"Well, at first he walked little, because of his wooden leg.

He had lodgings with a widow in a white-washed cottage overlooking the harbour-side, and seemed happy enough there, tending a monster geranium which grew against the house-wall, or pottering about the quay and making friends with the children.

For the children soon picked up an affection for him, seeing that he was never too busy to drop his gardening and come and be umpire at their games of 'tig' or 'prisoners' bars.' Also he had stories for them, and halfpennies or sweetmeats in mysterious pockets, and songs which he taught them: _Girofle, girofla_, and _Compagnons de la Marjolaine_, and _Les Petits Bateaux_--do you know it ?-- "'Papa, les p'tits bateaux Qui vont sur I'eau, Ont-ils des jambes?
-- Mais oui, petit beta, S'ils n'en avaient pas, ils n' march'raient pas!' "In short, M.Benest, with his loose blue coat and three-cornered naval cap, endeared himself to the children, and through the children to everyone.
"It was some time before he began to take walks; and I believe he had been living in the town for six months, when one day, having stumped up the valley road for a change, and just as he was facing about for the return journey, he heard a voice in his own language singing to the air of _Vive Henri Quatre_.
"The voice was shaky and, I dare say, uncertain in its upper notes; but it fetched M.Benest right-about-face again.

He perceived that it came from the garden of a solitary cottage up the road, a gunshot and more beyond his signpost.