going back to Brooklyn and to
her."

"I'm so glad," she cried. She stretched out her hand to the hermit. He
took it, somewhat embarrassed.

"Glad to see you," he said. "You certainly appear to have stirred things
up, miss. But women are good at that. I've always said--"

"Mr. Magee tells me you're going back, after all?" she broke in.

"Yes," returned Peters. "I knew it. I told you so. It was all right in
the summer, when the bands played, and the warm wind was hermiting on
the mountain, too. But in the fall, it's always been hard, and I've
heard the white lights calling, calling--why, I've even heard her--heard
Ellen. This fall you came, and there was something doing on
Baldpate--and I knew that when you went, I'd just naturally have to go,
too. So--I'm going."

"Splendid," commented the girl.

"It'll be somewhat delicate," continued the hermit, "bursting in on
Ellen after all these years. As I told Mr. Magee, I wish I had an
inaugural address, or something like that."

"I have it," responded Evelyn Rhodes. "I'll write a story about you for
to-morrow morning's paper. All about how the Christmas spirit has
overcome the Hermit of Baldpate, and how he's going back to his wife,
with his heart filled with love for her--it is filled, isn't it?"

"Well, yes," agreed Mr. Peters. "I reckon you might call it that."

"And then you can send her a copy of the paper, and follow it up in
person."

"A good idea," commented Billy Magee.

"At first glance, yes," studied Peters. "But, on the other hand, it
would be the death knell of my post-card business, and I'm calculating
to go back to Baldpate next summer and take it up again. No, I'm afraid
I can't let it be generally known that I've quit living in a shack on
the mountain for love of somebody or other."

"Once more," smiled Magee, "big business muzzles the press."

"Not that I ain't obliged to you for the offer," added the hermit.

"Of course," said the girl, "I understand. And I wish you the best of
luck--along with a merry Christmas."

"The same to you," replied the hermit heartily.

"Miss--er--Miss Rhodes and I will see you again," predicted Mr. Magee,
"next summer at Baldpate Inn."

The hermit looked at the girl, who turned her face away.

"I hope it'll turn out that way, I'm sure," he said. "I'll let you have
a reduction on all post-cards, just for old times' sake. Now I must find
out about the New York trains."

He melted into the crowd, an odd figure