“T married her,” was the reply.
There was a general laugh, in which the speaker joined; then the third shepherd said:
“My experience with Cromillian was not a very pleasant one; in fact, I carried about with me, for fully a week, some very uncomfortable reminders. You see for nearly two hundred years there has been a vendetta between my family and that of the Bendelas. The Bendelas have all died out with the exception of the widow, whom you all know, and her little son, who is about ten years old, I think. Less than a month ago I happened to meet him and, having my sheep-staff with me, gave him a good pounding from which I did not suppose he could recover. I left him in the forest, feeling quite sure that he would die there, but as it so happened that rascal Cromillian found him, and the boy told him that I was the one who had struck him. Three days afterwards, as I was coming home from Ajaccio, one dark night, Cromillian and his gang captured me. They took me into the maquis, bound me to a tree, and Cromillian himself gave me thirty sturdy whacks upon the back. Then he dismissed me with the polite admonition that if I touched the boy again he would shoot me at sight.”
“Have you met the boy since?” asked one of the shepherds.
“Oh, yes, often,” was the reply. “About a week ago I called upon the Widow Bendela and told her that I would consider the vendetta closed and that she need have no fear for her boy in the future. He, on his part, promised that he would bear no ill-will against me or mine.”
“You got off quite easily,” said the fourth shepherd. “Do you see that?” As he spoke, he raised a matted shock of hair from the right side of his head, disclosing the fact that his right ear had been cut off.
“Why, how did that happen?” all three cried in unison.
“Well, you see,” was the reply, “like my friend, I inherited a vendetta. One day I thought I had a remarkably good chance to bring down my enemy. I had come up behind him, and he had no idea of my presence. I am considered a good shot, but I missed it that time. Instead of hitting him in the back of the head, as I intended, the ball struck his right ear and lacerated it so that the greater part of it had to be removed by the surgeon. Somehow or other Cromillian got wind of the affair. Four of his band caught me one day and carried me into the maquis. Cromillian gave me a long lecture on the foolishness and criminality of the vendetta and then told me he would give me something to remember his words by; and he did, for one of the band took his stiletto and cut off my right ear. I have only one good ear now, but I have a good memory and I do not think I shall forget what Cromillian said on that occasion.”
“Ha, who comes here?” cried one of the men. As he spoke a little girl, apparently about ten years of age, and bearing a basket which seemed to be heavily laden, approached them.
“Ah, my little girl,” said one of them, “what’s in your basket?” As he spoke he took it from her and tore off the cloth which covered it. “Cold tongue, venison, bread, butter, cake, chicken pie.”