ee?"

And he answered, "_I see now!_" and so passed on down the walk.

And as he went through the garden, in the still dawn, the boy
trembled, for the hermit's footsteps gave no sound. And he passed
beyond the rosemary bush, and came not again.

And when the day wore on, and the hermit did not return, the boy went
into his cell.

Without, the sunshine dried the dew from paths on which the hermit's
feet had left no prints, and cherished the spring flowers bursting
into bloom. But within, the hermit's dead body lay stretched upon his
pallet, and the Trinity Flower was in his hand.

THE KYRKEGRIM TURNED PREACHER.

A Legend

It is said that in Norway every church has its own Niss, or Brownie.

They are of the same race as the Good People, who haunt farmhouses,
and do the maids' work for a pot of cream. They are the size of a
year-old child, but their faces are the faces of aged men. Their
common dress is of grey home-spun, with red peaked caps; but on
Michaelmas Day they wear round hats.

The Church Niss is called Kyrkegrim. His duty is to keep the church
clean, and to scatter the marsh-marigold flowers on the floor before
service. He also keeps order in the congregation, pinches those who
fall asleep, cuffs irreverent boys, and hustles mothers with crying
children out of church as quickly and decorously as possible.

But his business is not with church-brawlers alone.

When the last snow avalanche has slipped from the high-pitched roof,
and the gentian is bluer than the sky, and Baldur's Eyebrow blossoms
in the hot spring sun, pious folk are wont to come to church some
time before service, and to bring their spades, and rakes, and
watering-pots with them, to tend the graves of the dead. The Kyrkegrim
sits on the Lych Gate and overlooks them.

At those who do not lay by their tools in good time he throws pebbles,
crying to each, "_Skynde dig!_" (Make haste!), and so drives them in.
And when the bells begin, should any man fail to bow to the church as
the custom is, the Kyrkegrim snatches his hat from behind, and he sees
it no more.

Nothing displeases the Kyrkegrim more than when people fall asleep
during the sermon. This will be seen in the following story.

Once upon a time there was a certain country church, which was served
by a very mild and excellent priest, and haunted by a most active
Kyrkegrim.

Not a speck of dust was to be seen from the altar to the porch, and
the behavior of the congr