The Piece of String

At the end of market day, the rich people with vehicles of all kinds—carts, gigs, wagons, and dumpcarts—gathered at a great big hall for a great meal.

There were chickens, pigeons, and legs of mutton in the roast and an appetizing odor of roast beef. Leaf and gravy are appetizing, and the browned skin, which increased the appetite and made everybody's mouth water. Everyone discussed affairs, his and the weather, which was favorable for the green things but not for wheat. Suddenly, at the scene, the drumbeat in the court, everybody rose from their seats except a few who still had their seats now attentive and impatiently waiting for him to call out the public announcement. "It is hereby made known to the iic announcer of this" place and, in general, to all persons in the market that a black leather pocketbook containing five hundred shillings and some business papers was lost on the road between 9.00 and 10.00 in the morning. mayor'nder is ror to Mr. James, the caretaker of this public hall. There will be a reward of 20 shillings in the public hall. There will be a reward of 20 shillings".

After the meal had concluded, the chief of the police appeared on the scene. He inquired, "Is Mr. Hubert here?" Mr. Hubert, seated at another end of the table, replied, "Here I am." The police officer went up to him and said, "Mr. Hubert, will you please accompany me to the mayor's office? The mayor would like to talk to you." Mr. H officer. The mayor, disturbed, followed the police officer. The mayor, a stout, serious man, was waiting for Hubert. "Mr. Hubert," he said, "you were seen this morning to pick up the pocketbook lost by Mr. James." Mr. Hubert, the simple countryman, looked at the mayor astounded and already terrified by the suspicion resting on him. "Why, me? Me? Me picked up the pocketbook?" "Yes, you yourself." "By my word of honor, I never heard of it." "But you were seen."

"I was seen with the pocketbook? Who saw me?" "Mr. Manana, the harness man, saw you pick up the pocketbook."

Mr. Hubert, the old man, remembered, understood, and flushed with anger.

"Oh, him! Yes! He saw me pick up this string here." And as he said so, he drew out the little pick hisf string from his pocket.

But the mayor showed that Mr. Manaoa, who had a pocketbook worthy of credence, mistook the cord for a pocketbook.

Mr. Hubert, the peasant furious honour, and said in the most exasperating tone, "It is true." I repeat the truth of the good God, the sacred truter picking up the object; you stood there, looking at the object, wondering if any money had fallen out."

The good soul, Mr. Hubert, choked with indignation and fear.

Mr. Hubert choked with indignation and fear.

"How anyone can tell. Hch lin any oae

away wass no use of Mr. Huation. How cananyonee

They believed him. p Mr. Manana repeatedly maintained that Hubert had p Mr. Manana repeatedly maintained that Hubert had picked up the pocketbook. For an hour both men abused each other. Then at his own request, Mr. Hubert was searched. Nothing was found on him.

Finally the mayor discharged Hubert with a warning that he would consult the public prosecutor and ask for further orders.

As he left the mayor's office, people surrounded and questioned him with serious curiosity. Nobody believed his story of the string. Instead people laughed at him.

Mr. Hubert went along stopping his friends, giving them his statement and presentation, turning his pocket said was, "You old rascal! Get out of here!".

hey said was, "you old rascal! Get out of here!".

Mr. Hubert went to the village telling every man he knew about his adventure, but he only met with incredulity. It all made him ill. The next day in the afternoon a man named George returned the pocketbook and its contents to Mr. James, the owner of the pocketbook.

George claimed to have found the pocketbook on the road to the village market, but not knowing how to read, he had given it to his employer.

The news spread like wildfire in the neighborhood. Mr. Hubert was also informed. He was in triumph.

"What grieved me as much was not the thing itself as the lying. There is nothing so shameful as to be called a liar."

Whatever reasons he gave, people were not willing to believe him. "Those are lying excuses." They said behind his back.

Hebert felt this r.ame assumed his heart's self-esteem and character. He consumed his heart over this and wasted away before the very eyes of the people.

People started to tell the story of the string to amuse themselves and told it in a manner of a soldier who had been on a campaign and told about his battles. Hubert's mind, touched to the depth, began to weaken day by day.

Towards the end of the month he took to his bed. He died in the first week of the following month.

In the delirium of his death struggles, he kept claiming his innocence, reiterating, "A piece of string, a piece of string! By my word of honor, I did not lie."

And he died.

It is said that a great flood in its great wrath carried away the people and all their belongings.

The grave of Hubert withstood the havoc of the flood.

It was engraved on his tombstone, years after his death, "Here lies a man who told nothing but the truth." Here lies the man who would not prove his innocence, but the flood proved it!."