Yesterday I heard angry shouts from the road, and then I met Mhor sauntering in, on his face the seraphic expression he wears when some nefarious scheme has prospered, and in his hand the brass breakfast kettle.

He had been pouring water on the passers-by from the top of the wall.

'Only,' he explained to me, 'on the men who wore hard black hats, who could swear.' "I told him the police would probably visit us in the course of the afternoon, and pointed out to him how ungentleman-like was his behaviour, and he said he was sorry; but I'm afraid he will soon think of some other wickedness.
"He thinks he can do anything he hasn't been told not to do, but how could I foresee that he would want to pour water on men with hard black hats, capable of swearing?
"I had almost forgotten to tell you, an old man came yesterday and wanted to see over the house.

You can imagine what a scare I got--I made sure he wanted to buy it; but it turned out that he had lived at The Rigs as a boy, and had come back for old sake's sake.

He looked ill and rather shabby, and I don't believe life had been very good to him.