they never do such
things."

"Then I have a superior claim on your clemency," said the fisherman; "for
I am sorry and humiliate my soul to the lowest depths of the
confessional."

It was the voice of the plausible, easy-going fisherman again.

My hand was on the latch. "I am not angry; I would rather be friends," I
said with averted face, as we were returning through the dark
"keeping-rooms."

"When you get out of this realm of myths and missions, and general dread
and discomfort," said Mr. Rollin, "on to comprehensible soil again, where
ordinary sinners are sure of some sort of a footing,--and bad as a fellow
is he knows there are plenty more like him,--then I shan't appear to you
in such a deucedly poor light as I do now, a doubtful sort of pearl in a
setting of isolated cedars, with my beauty and my genius and my heavenly
aspirations all unappreciated, or made to descend as a greater measure of
condemnation on my devoted auburn head. Truly, I believe that an evil
star attends my course in Wallencamp. My own ideas seem strange to me. I
cannot grasp them. My language is wild and disconnected, I fancy, like
that of the early Norse poets. When I meet you in the world, I shall hope
to recover some of the old-time coherence and felicity of speech which I
remember to have heard practised among the world's people; and it isn't
long now, thank Heaven, before you'll leave Wallencamp behind you. When
you go home----"

When I should go home, indeed! I had hardly dared to cherish the thought.
I stifled the rising flood of exultation in my breast--but how pale and
interesting I should look! And, then, I would describe Wallencamp to my
own loving friends as it really was, and what a lion they would make of
me! Had they not always lionized my virtuous efforts to the fullest
extent!

My face must have been very happy in the dark. I felt even almost kindly
towards Mr. Rollin. We were at the last door. As we entered the lighted
room, Grandma's broad face began to beam with slow surprise, "Why," said
she; "where's the little no-back cheer?"

Mr. Rollin's resources in such extremities usually bespoke a lifetime of
patient and adroit application, but now he hesitated. The accumulated
glory of years seemed likely to be wrecked on the phantom of a little
no-back chair.

"Moonstruck? Eh, Mr. Rollin?" inquired Harvey Dole.

The fisherman regarded Harvey with a smile of quiet and amused
sufferance.

"Ah! Mrs. Keeler," said he, wi