er first, and then I--I--"

"You rewrote it!" roared Pym. "You dared to meddle with--" He was
speechless with fury.

"I tried to keep my hand off," Tommy said, with dignity, "but the
thing had to be done, and they are human now."

"Human! who wants them to be human? The fiends seize you, boy! you
have even been tinkering with my heroine's personal appearance; what
is this you have been doing to her nose?"

"I turned it up slightly, that's all," said Tommy.

"I like them down," roared Pym.

"I prefer them up," said Tommy, stiffly.

"Where," cried Pym, turning over the leaves in a panic, "where is the
scene in the burning house?"

"It's out," Tommy explained, "but there is a chapter in its place
about--it's mostly about the beauty of the soul being everything, and
mere physical beauty nothing. Oh, Mr. Pym, sit down and let me read it
to you."

But Pym read it, and a great deal more, for himself. No wonder he
stormed, for the impossible had been made not only consistent, but
unreadable. The plot was lost for chapters. The characters no longer
did anything, and then went and did something else: you were told
instead how they did it. You were not allowed to make up your own mind
about them: you had to listen to the mind of T. Sandys; he described
and he analyzed; the road he had tried to clear through the thicket
was impassable for chips.

"A few more weeks of this," said Pym, "and we should all three be
turned out into the streets."

Tommy went to bed in an agony of mortification, but presently to his
side came Pym.

"Where did you copy this from?" he asked. "'It is when we are thinking
of those we love that our noblest thoughts come to us, and the more
worthy they are of our love the nobler the thought; hence it is that
no one has done the greatest work who did not love God.'"

"I copied it from nowhere," replied Tommy, fiercely; "it's my own."

"Well, it has nothing to do with the story, and so is only a blot on
it, and I have no doubt the thing has been said much better before.
Still, I suppose it is true."

"It's true," said Tommy; "and yet--"

"Go on. I want to know all about it."

"And yet," Tommy said, puzzled, "I've known noble thoughts come to me
when I was listening to a brass band."

Pym chuckled. "Funny things, noble thoughts," he agreed. He read
another passage: "'It was the last half-hour of day when I was
admitted, with several others, to look upon my friend's dead face. A
handkerchi