peared on Clementine's face.

"That man is gone, madame; it is many years. And he was not blue at all.
He was English Jersey man, of Halifax."

"Did you never hear of any blue man on the island, Clementine?"

"I hear of blue bones found beyond Point de Mission."

"But that skeleton found in the hole near the Giant's Stairway was a
woman's skeleton."

"Me loes!" exclaimed Madame Clementine, miscalling her English as she
always did in excitement. "Me handle de big bones, moi-meme! Me loes
what de doctor who found him say!"

"I was told it was an Indian girl."

"You have hear lies, madame. Me loes there was a blue man found beyond
Point de Mission."

"But who was it that I saw in your house?"

"He is not in my house!" declared Madame Clementine. "No blue man is
ever in my house!" She crossed herself.

There is a sensation like having a slide pulled from one's head;
the shock passes in the fraction of a second. Sunshine, and rioting
nasturtiums, the whole natural world, including Clementine's puzzled
brown face, were no more distinct to-day than the blue man and the woman
with floating hair had been yesterday.

I had seen a man who shot down to instant death in the pit under
the Giant's Stairway thirty-five years ago. I had seen a woman, who,
perhaps, once thought herself intentionally and strangely deserted, seek
and meet him after she had been killed at four o'clock!

This experience, set down in my note-book and repeated to no one,
remains associated with the Old World scent of ginger. For I remember
hearing Clementine say through a buzzing, "You come in, madame--you must
have de hot wine and jahjah!"

End of Project Gutenberg's The Blue Man, by Mary Hartwell Catherwood

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