efore him.

"Not a soul," whined out the boy. "My grandmother is dead now, and only
the gentlefolks give me anything; for they don't seem afraid of me,
though they look as if they didn't like me, and wanted me gone. All I
can, I get to eat in the woods, and I beg out of the village. But I dare
not go far, because I don't know when He will want me. But I am not
alone, He's with me day and night. As I go along the street in the
daytime, I feel Him near me, though I can't see Him; and it is as if He
were speaking to me; and yet I don't hear any words. He makes me follow
Him to that wood; and I have to sit the whole day where you found me,
and I dare not complain nor move, till I feel He will let me go. I've
looked at the pines, sometimes, till I have seen spirits moving all
through them. Oh, 'tis an awful place; they breathe cold upon me when He
makes me go there."

"Poor wretch!" said Paul.

"I'm weak and hungry, and yet when I try to eat, something chokes me; I
don't love what I eat."

"Come along with me, and you shall have something to nourish and warm
you; for you are pale and shiver, and look cold here in the very sun."

The boy looked up at Paul, and the tears rolled down his cheeks at
hearing one speak so kindly to him. He got up and followed meekly after
to the house.

Paul, seeing a servant in the yard, ordered the boy something to eat.
The man cast his eye upon Abel, and then looked at Paul as if he had not
understood him. "I spoke distinctly enough," said Paul; "and don't you
see that the boy is nigh starved?" The man gave a mysterious look at
both of them, and with a shake of his head as he turned away, went to do
as he was bid.

"What means the fellow?" said Paul to himself as he entered the house.
"Does he take me to be bound to Satan too? Yet there may be bonds upon
the soul, though we know it not; and evil spirits at work within us, of
which we little dream. And are there no beings but those seen of mortal
eye or felt by mortal touch? Are there not passing in and around this
piece of moving mold, in which the spirit is pent up, those whom it
hears not? those whom it has no finer sense whereby to commune with? Are
all the instant joys that come and go, we know not whence nor whither,
but creations of the mind? Or are they not rather bright and heavenly
messengers, whom when this spirit is set free it will see in all their
beauty? whose sweet sounds it will then drink in? Yes, it is, it is so;
and a