While our arrangements were being concluded I grew tired of sitting in the rattan chair I had occupied, and, boy fashion, sprang up and leaped over the veranda railing to the bank below.
As I came down and turned partly around to prevent myself from rolling over on the sloping grass, I caught sight of a flannel shirt and a straw hat peeping from out of the bushes surrounding the veranda.
"Hullo, who's that?" I cried out, and shoved the bushes aside, to uncover a man who lay on the ground with his eyes closed, as if asleep. He was dressed like a sailor, and his left arm was missing from the elbow.
"Who's who?" asked Mr. Raymond.
"Here's a man asleep under the veranda."
"A man? Can it be that good-for-nothing gardener?" cried Mr. Raymond, and ran down the steps. "He's a stranger—a tramp, most likely," he added, a second later. "Hi, wake up here and give an account of yourself," he cried, and caught the one-armed man by the foot.
He had to shake pretty thoroughly before the sailor opened his eyes sleepily. "What are ye doin'?" he mumbled, then sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Guess I was asleep, cap'n."
"You were." Mr. Raymond eyed him sharply. "What brought you into my grounds?"
"No offense, sir. I am—well, I'm down on
