but myself:--How were they to grow? But again,
Why should they grow? In seeking to improve their conditions, might
I not do them harm, and only harm? To enlarge their minds after the
notions of my world--might it not be to distort and weaken them? Their
fear of growth as a possible start for gianthood might be instinctive!

The part of philanthropist is indeed a dangerous one; and the man who
would do his neighbour good must first study how not to do him evil, and
must begin by pulling the beam out of his own eye.

CHAPTER XV. A STRANGE HOSTESS

I travelled on attended by the moon. As usual she was full--I had never
seen her other--and to-night as she sank I thought I perceived something
like a smile on her countenance.

When her under edge was a little below the horizon, there appeared in
the middle of her disc, as if it had been painted upon it, a cottage,
through the open door and window of which she shone; and with the sight
came the conviction that I was expected there. Almost immediately the
moon was gone, and the cottage had vanished; the night was rapidly
growing dark, and my way being across a close succession of small
ravines, I resolved to remain where I was and expect the morning. I
stretched myself, therefore, in a sandy hollow, made my supper off the
fruits the children had given me at parting, and was soon asleep.

I woke suddenly, saw above me constellations unknown to my former world,
and had lain for a while gazing at them, when I became aware of a figure
seated on the ground a little way from and above me. I was startled, as
one is on discovering all at once that he is not alone. The figure was
between me and the sky, so that I saw its outline well. From where I lay
low in the hollow, it seemed larger than human.

It moved its head, and then first I saw that its back was toward me.

"Will you not come with me?" said a sweet, mellow voice, unmistakably a
woman's.

Wishing to learn more of my hostess,

"I thank you," I replied, "but I am not uncomfortable here. Where would
you have me go? I like sleeping in the open air."

"There is no hurt in the air," she returned; "but the creatures that
roam the night in these parts are not such as a man would willingly have
about him while he sleeps."

"I have not been disturbed," I said.

"No; I have been sitting by you ever since you lay down."

"That is very kind of you! How came you to know I was here? Why do you
show me such favour?"

"