Every time I saw Page, the more certain I was, not only of his ability,
but of his past experience in bigger things. The inconsistencies of his
story began to irritate me like the pricking of a pin which the
presence of company forbade my removing. However, I did not question him
openly; I tried not to do so in my heart. I found for him more students
as well as excuses to mend his clothes and have him with us. I scolded
him for taking cold, filled him up with stews, brews, and tonics, and
with Jane as chief enthusiast--she had fallen an easy victim--we managed
to make something of a home life for him.

The boy could not hide his pleasure in our little parties; but it was
with protest that he accepted so much waiting on and coddling. He was
always deferential, but delighted in gently laughing at Jane and telling
me stories that could not happen out of a book.

Sometimes his spirits ran high and found expression in song or a
whistled tune. When there was a sudden knock or when he was definitely
questioned, there was something in his attitude which I would have named
fear, had not every line in his lean, muscular body contradicted the
suggestion.

It had not happened very often, but when it did, a nameless something
seemed to cover us, and in passing, left a shadow which turned our happy
evenings cold and bleak.

It was the custom for every member of my household to assemble in the
living-room after supper for evening prayer. Jane and I, the cook, and
the two little maids were there because we found comfort and joy. Old
Ishi, the gardener, attended because he hoped to discover the witch that
made the music inside the baby organ. At the same time he propitiated
the foreigner's god, though he kept on the good side of his own deities
by going immediately afterwards to offer apology and incense at the
temple.

Often Page Hanaford came in at this hour and quietly joined us.

It was an incongruous group, but touching with one accord the border of
holier things, banished differences of creed and race and cemented a
bond of friendship.

One evening after the service Jane--taking the maids and a heaped-up
basket--went to answer a prayer for daily bread she had overheard coming
from a hut that day. Page and I settled down for a long, pleasant
evening, he with his pipe and book, I with a pile of English
compositions to be corrected. "Change" was the subject of the first one
I picked up, and I read the opening paragraph alo