lessly gathered about the tree in the garden, just as the fisher maiden, barefoot and tattered, had climbed up to give it a shaking, the back door burst open, and Pedro and the policeman rushed out, armed with clubs, and with the great dog at their heels. A shriek of dismay arose among the boys; a troop of little girls, who in all innocence were playing “tag” outside the fence, supposing some one was being murdered in the garden, fell to screaming most lustily. The boys who had escaped, hurrahed; those who had been caught in the fence howled under the strokes of the clubs, and in order that the whole might be complete, a number of old women, who always spring up where the shrieks of boys are heard, blended their shrill voices with the rest. Even Pedro and the policeman were alarmed, and began to make terms with the old women; but, meanwhile, the boys ran away. The dog, who had been the greatest terror of all to the boys, clearing the fence, set out in pursuit of them,—for this was sport for him. On they sped through the town like wild ducks: boys, girls, the dog, and screams.
All the while the fisher maiden sat quietly up the tree, thinking that nobody had noticed her. Cowering in the topmost branch, she
