paler. "Burn it, sir!--burn it, and the power will leave her."

Mr. Dyceworthy laughed indulgently. "My good woman, you mistake," he
said suavely. "Your zeal for the true gospel leads you into error. There
are thousands of misguided persons who worship such a thing as this. It
is often all of our dear Lord they know. Sad, very sad! But still,
though they, alas! are not of the elect, and are plainly doomed to
perdition,--they are not precisely what are termed witches, Ulrika."

"_She_ is," replied the woman with a sort of ferocity; "and, if I had my
way, I would tell her so to her face, and see what would happen to her
then!"

"Tut, tut!" remarked Mr. Dyceworthy amiably. "The days of witchcraft are
past. You show some little ignorance, Ulrika. You are not acquainted
with the great advancement of recent learning."

"Maybe, maybe," and Ulrika turned to go; but she muttered sullenly as
she went, "There be them that know and could tell, and them that will
have her yet."

She shut the door behind her with a sharp clang, and, left to himself,
Mr. Dyceworthy again smiled--such a benignant, fatherly smile! He then
walked to the window and looked out. It was past seven o'clock, an hour
that elsewhere would have been considered evening, but in Bosekop at
that season it still seemed afternoon.

The sun was shining brilliantly, and in the minister's front garden the
roses were all wide awake. A soft moisture glittered on every tiny leaf
and blade of grass. The penetrating and delicious odor of sweet violets
scented each puff of wind, and now and then the call of the cuckoo
pierced the air with a subdued, far-off shrillness.

From his position Mr. Dyceworthy could catch a glimpse through the trees
of the principal thoroughfare of Bosekop--a small, primitive street
enough, of little low houses, which, though unpretending from without,
were roomy and comfortable within. The distant, cool sparkle of the
waters of the Fjord, the refreshing breeze, the perfume of the flowers,
and the satisfied impression left on his mind by recent tea and
toast--all these things combined had a soothing effect on Mr.
Dyceworthy, and with a sigh of absolute comfort he settled his large
person in a deep easy chair and composed himself for pious meditation.

He meditated long,--with fast-closed eyes and open mouth, while the
earnestness of his inward thoughts was clearly demonstrated now and then
by an irrepressible,--almost triumphant,--cornet-blast