in the dreams of such a young mortal which calls for any of your good
help. Were Ben a boy of a wild and brilliant fancy, say, like Sprigg,
whose case we are putting through in a somewhat novel fashion, why,
these pranks you are playing might not be deemed unseasonable, might
even be approved; but you forget the nature of Manitou duty and go
beyond the bounds of Manitou privilege, when you turn aside to bedevil a
thoroughly honest human thing like Ben. To be sure, as I have just
hinted, Ben is not a brilliant youth, nor shall ever be one, even though
he should live to see his second childhood, and from that stage of
mortal existence take a fresh start; nor is he likely ever to make a
conspicuous figure in the world. What, though, does this signify to us
Manitous? Such considerations, smacking, as they do, of human folly, are
not the sort to influence the true Manitou way of viewing mankind, or
the true Manitou way of dealing with human concerns. 'Tis enough for us
that Ben is right-minded and true-hearted; that he keeps his dreams and
fancies within beseeming limits, never letting them go gadding wide and
loose from home; or, if he lets them go abroad at all, depend upon it,
the ends he proposes to himself are well meant and unselfish, be they
wise or simple. Therefore, it behooves us, as true Manitous, to treat
this humble, honest lad with just as much consideration and respect as
we were showing the boy Washington, some forty years ago, and are now
showing the boy Tecumseh.

"Then away with you, now, to Meg of the Hills and join her in her
attendance on Little Bertha Bryant, the pretty young human thing, whose
mind is so free from foolish fancies, whose heart so full of loving
intentions that we can make her, and are making her, and shall continue
to make her, an instrument to the good and happiness of the less worthy
with whom her lot is cast. Away, ye imps! But mark ye before ye go, if
ever I catch you making another innocent mortal the object of your
impertinent pranks, I will reduce you, sure as fate, I will, to your
original fog and moonshine, with just so little of you left as shall
barely serve for echo and wisp."

CHAPTER XX.

Little Bertha Bryant.

Who, with pretty, young eyes overflowing with soft, sweet tears, stood
gazing at Sprigg and his mother, where they lay side by side together?
Little Bertha. Who, with pretty, young hands, so kind and deft, hung the
kettle over the fire, and, when the w