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THE CLEVER NECROMANCER
color, and purple, and gold were gone from his neck.
"Oh, my vocabulary!" he wailed. "Oh, my bags, my bags, my bags! What am I but a man undone without my bag of adjectives!"
The dogs and the children that ran at his heels did not understand, nor did smith and weaver as they stood in their doorways.
"Oh, my other bag, my bag of epithets, of polysyllabic epithets!" cried the fugitive as he ran.
A squealing pig joined the chase, and the men children and maid children who ran after laughed aloud. The women who watched from lattice or stone doorstep were of those who, by means of ten skill-
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