."

"Well he might," replied the hermit. "Suspicion is the key-note of
modern life--especially in New York." He drew the purple dressing-gown
closer about his plump form. "I remember the last time I was in the big
town, seeing a crowd of men in the grill-room of the Hoffman House. One
of them--long, lean, like an eel--stooped down and whispered in the ear
of a little fellow with a diamond horseshoe desecrating his
haberdashery, and pointing to another man near by. 'No, I won't,' says
the man with the diamonds, 'I don't introduce nobody to nobody. Let
every man play his own game, I say.' That's New York. That's the essence
of the town. 'I introduce nobody to nobody.'"

"It seems odd," remarked Mr. Magee, "to hear you speak of the time you
walked on pavements."

"I haven't always been on Baldpate Mountain," replied the hermit. "Once
I, too, paid taxes and wore a derby hat and sat in barbers' chairs. Yes,
I sat in 'em in many towns, in many corners of this little round globe.
But that's all over now."

The three visitors gazed at Mr. Peters with a new interest.

"New York," said Mr. Max softly, as a better man might have spoken the
name of the girl he loved. "Its a great little Christmas tree. The
candles are always burning and the tinsel presents always look good to
me."

The hermit's eyes strayed far away--down the mountain--and beyond.

"New York," said he, and his tone was that in which Max had said the
words. "A great little Christmas tree it is, with fine presents for the
reaching. Sometimes, at night here, I see it as it was four years ago--I
see the candles lit on the Great White Way--I hear the elevated roar,
and the newsboys shout, and Diamond Jim Brady applauding at a musical
comedy's first night. New York!"

Mr. Max rose pompously and pointed a yellow finger at the Hermit of
Baldpate Mountain.

"I got you!" he cried in triumph. "I'm wise! You want to go back."

A half-hearted smile crossed the visible portion of the hermit's face.

"I guess I'm about the poorest liar in the world," he said. "I never got
away with but one lie in my life, and that was only for a little while.
It was a masterpiece while it lasted, too. But it was my only hit as a
liar. Usually I fail, as I have failed now. I lied when I said I
couldn't cook for you because I had to be true to my hermit's oath. That
isn't the reason. I'm afraid."

"Afraid?" echoed Mr. Magee.

"Scared," said Mr. Peters, "of temptation. Your seventh s