answered the stranger was observed to shake the ashes out of his pipe.

"What did he say in that sharp voice?" inquired one of the spectators.

"Nay, I know not," answered his friend. "But the sun dazzles my eyes
strangely. How dim and faded His Lordship looks all of a sudden! Bless
my wits, what is the matter with me?"

"The wonder is," said the other, "that his pipe, which was out an
instant ago, should be all alight again and with the reddest coal I
ever saw. There is something mysterious about this stranger. What a
whiff of smoke was that! 'Dim and faded,' did you call him? Why, as he
turns about the star on his breast is all ablaze."

"It is, indeed," said his companion, "and it will go near to dazzle
pretty Polly Gookin, whom I see peeping at it out of the chamber
window."

The door being now opened, Feathertop turned to the crowd, made a
stately bend of his body, like a great man acknowledging the reverence
of the meaner sort, and vanished into the house. There was a mysterious
kind of a smile--if it might not better be called a grin or
grimace--upon his visage, but of all the throng that beheld him not an
individual appears to have possessed insight enough to detect the
illusive character of the stranger, except a little child and a
cur-dog.

Our legend here loses somewhat of its continuity, and, passing over the
preliminary explanation between Feathertop and the merchant, goes in
quest of the pretty Polly Gookin. She was a damsel of a soft, round
figure with light hair and blue eyes, and a fair rosy face which seemed
neither very shrewd nor very simple. This young lady had caught a
glimpse of the glistening stranger while standing at the threshold and
had forthwith put on a laced cap, a string of beads, her finest
kerchief and her stiffest damask petticoat, in preparation for the
interview. Hurrying from her chamber to the parlor, she had ever since
been viewing herself in the large looking-glass and practising pretty
airs--now a smile, now a ceremonious dignity of aspect, and now a
softer smile than the former, kissing her hand likewise, tossing her
head and managing her fan, while within the mirror an unsubstantial
little maid repeated every gesture and did all the foolish things that
Polly did, but without making her ashamed of them. In short, it was the
fault of pretty Polly's ability, rather than her will, if she failed to
be as complete an artifice as the illustrious Feathertop himself; and
when s