whom I had previously trusted and
admired, for they were probably not all as good and amiable as they
appeared. However, I could not help asking myself, as Mabel had done,
what good such a knowledge would, in the end, do me. Was it not better
to believe everybody good, until convinced to the contrary, than to
distrust everybody and by my suspicion do injustice to those who were
really better than they seemed? After all, I thought, these spectacles
are making me morbid and suspicious; they are a dangerous and useless
thing to possess. I will return them to their real owner.

This, then, was my determination. A little before sunset I started for
the gorge, and on my way I met a little girl playing with pebbles at
the roadside. My curiosity once more possessed me. I put on the
gnome's spectacles and gazed intently at the child. Strange to say no
transformation occurred. I took off the glasses, rubbed them with my
handkerchief, and put them on once more. The child still remained what
it seemed--a child; not a feature was changed. Here, then, was really
a creature that was neither more nor less than it seemed. For some
inconceivable reason the tears started to my eyes; I took the little
girl up in my arms and kissed her. My thoughts then naturally turned
to Mabel; I knew in the depth of my heart that she, too, would have
remained unchanged. What could she be that was better than her own
sweet self--the pure, the beautiful, the blessed Mabel?

When the sun was well set, I sat down under the same hemlock-tree
where I had first met the gnome. After half an hour's waiting I again
saw the lights advancing over the ground, struck at random at one of
them and the small man was once more visible. I did not seize his cap,
however, but addressed him in this manner:

"Do you know, you curious Old World sprite, what scrapes your
detestable spectacles brought me into? Here they are. Take them back.
I don't want to see them again as long as I live."

In the next moment I saw the precious glasses in the gnome's hand, a
broad, malicious grin distorted his features, and before I could say
another word, he had snatched up his cap and vanished.

A few days later, Mabel, with her sweet-brier dress on, was again
walking at my side along the stream in the gorge, and somehow our
footsteps led us to the old willow-tree where we had had out talk
about the German gnomes and fairies.

"Suppose, Jamie," said Mabel, as we seated ourselves on the