I HAD not gone above two leagues and a half, before the man with his
gun began to look at his priming.
I had three several times loiter’d _terribly_ behind; half a mile at
least every time; once, in deep conference with a drum-maker, who was
making drums for the fairs of _Baucaira_ and _Tarascone_—I did not
understand the principles——
The second time, I cannot so properly say, I stopp’d——for meeting a
couple of _Franciscans_ straitened more for time than myself, and not
being able to get to the bottom of what I was about——I had turn’d back
with them——
The third, was an affair of trade with a gossip, for a hand-basket of
_Provence_ figs for four sous; this would have been transacted at once;
but for a case of conscience at the close of it; for when the figs were
paid for, it turn’d out, that there were two dozen of eggs covered over
with vine-leaves at the bottom of the basket—as I had no intention of
buying eggs—I made no sort of claim of them—as for the space they had
occupied—what signified it? I had figs enow for my money——
—But it was my intention to have the basket—it was the gossip’s
intention to keep it, without which, she could do nothing with her
eggs——and unless I had the basket, I could do as little with my figs,
which were too ripe already, and most of ’em burst at the side: this
brought on a short contention, which terminated in sundry proposals,
what we should both do——
——How we disposed of our eggs and figs, I defy you, or the Devil
himself, had he not been there (which I am persuaded he was), to form
the least probable conjecture: You will read the whole of it——not this
year, for I am hastening to the story of my uncle _Toby_’s amours—but
you will read it in the collection of those which have arose out of the
journey across this plain—and which, therefore, I call my