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And in order to make his voice carry better, he stepped up on a

great heap of beams (near the garden fence beams were drying); he

climbed on them, and at once, as if the wind had blown him away,

he vanished from sight; they heard how he plumped into the

cabbage patch, they saw how his white hat flitted like a dove

over the dark hemp. Bucket shot at the hat, but missed his aim;

then there was a crackling of poles-Protazy was already in the

hop patch. "I protest," he shouted; he was sure of escape, for

behind him he had swamps and the bed of the stream.