BEGGARS under the BUSH
As I came round the bush I was aware of four beggars in the shade of it, counting their spoils.
They sat at their ease, with food and a flagon of wine before them and silver cups, for all the world like gentlefolk on a picnic, only happier. But I knew them for beggars by the boldness of their asking eyes and the crook in their fingers.
They looked at me curiously, as if to say, "What do you bring us?"
"Nothing, gentlemen," I answered, "I am only seeking information."
At this they moved uneasily and glanced at one another with a crafty look of alarm. Their crooked fingers closed around the cups.
"Are you a collector of taxes?" cried the first beggar.
"Certainly not," I replied with heat, "but a payer of them!"
"Come, come," said the beggar, with a wink at his comrades, "no insult intended! Only a prudent habit of ours in these days of mixed society. But you are evidently poor and honest. Take a chair on the grass. Honesty we love, and to poverty we have no objection—in fact, we admire it—in others."
So I sat down beside them in the shade of the bush and lit my pipe to listen.