that at last the opportunity had come to me to play
the role of a minor hero gave me a peace that amounted almost to
buoyancy. No need had I of the teachings of the musty old
philosophers reposing on my bookshelves. John Stanhope had
learned more of life in a few short hours than all his tomes
could impart. His books had helped him many times in diagnosing
the cases of his friends; when John fell ill they mocked and
deceived him.

Opportunely enough Phyllis followed me into the library, and when
at my request she sat on a little stool at my feet, and I held
her hand and stroked her soft light hair, a pang went through my
heart, for I felt that she might be near me for the last time.
The philosopher had yet much to learn. For several minutes we
were both silent. Of the two I was doubtless the more ill at
ease, though I concealed it bravely.

"Phyllis," I said at last, "did you ever get over a childish
fondness for fairy-stories?"

She smiled at this--was I wrong in fancying that her smile was
that of sadness?--and answered: "I hope not."

"Because," I went on, bending over and affectionately patting the
hand I held, "a little fairy-tale has been running through my
head all day, and I have decided that you shall be the first to
hear it and pass on its merits. And because," I added gayly, "if
it has your approval I may wish to publish it. Shall I begin?"

She nodded her head--I could swear now to the weariness the poor
child was so staunchly fighting--and looked off toward the
sunset.

"Once upon a time--you see that I am conventional--there lived a
beautiful young princess, on whom a wicked old troll had cast an
evil eye. Now this wicked troll was not so hideous as the trolls
we see in our fairy-books--I must say that--but he was so wicked
that even this deficiency could not excuse him. The princess was
as young and innocent--I was going to say as simple--as she was
beautiful, and the wicked troll talked so much of his experience
in the world, and boasted so hugely of his wealth and generosity
and other shining virtues, that the imagination of the poor
little princess was quite fired, and she was flattered into
thinking that here was a treasure not to be lightly put aside.
And so, in a foolish moment she consented to be his bride, and he
took her away to his castle--I believe trolls do have castles--to
make ready for the marriage. While the preparations were going
on, and the wicked old troll was laughing with