g to him cheerfully all the
time about common things. When I finally left him and came downstairs I
found Harriet standing with frightened eyes in the middle of the
kitchen.

"I'm afraid to have him sleep in this house," she said.

But I reassured her. "You do not understand," I said.

Owing to the excitement of the evening I spent a restless night. Before
daylight, while I was dreaming a strange dream of two men running, the
one who pursued being the exact counterpart of the one who fled, I heard
my name called aloud:

"David, David!"

I sprang out of bed.

"The tramp has gone," called Harriet.

He had not even slept in his bed. He had raised the window, dropped out
on the ground and vanished.

X

THE INFIDEL

I find that we have an infidel in this community. I don't know that I
should set down the fact here on good white paper; the walls, they say,
have eyes, the stones have ears. But consider these words written in
bated breath! The worst of it is--I gather from common report--this
infidel is a Cheerful Infidel, whereas a true infidel should bear upon
his face the living mark of his infamy. We are all tolerant enough of
those who do not agree with us, provided only they are sufficiently
miserable! I confess when I first heard of him--through Mrs. Horace
(with shudders)--I was possessed of a consuming secret desire to see
him. I even thought of climbing a tree somewhere along the public
road--like Zaccheus, wasn't it?--and watching him go by. If by any
chance he should look my way I could easily avoid discovery by crouching
among the leaves. It shows how pleasant must be the paths of
unrighteousness that we are tempted to climb trees to see those who walk
therein. My imagination busied itself with the infidel. I pictured him
as a sort of Moloch treading our pleasant countryside, flames and smoke
proceeding from his nostrils, his feet striking fire, his voice like the
sound of a great wind. At least that was the picture I formed of him
from common report.

And yesterday afternoon I met the infidel and I must here set down a
true account of the adventure. It is, surely, a little new door opened
in the house of my understanding. I might travel a whole year in a city,
brushing men's elbows, and not once have such an experience. In country
spaces men develop sensitive surfaces, not calloused by too frequent
contact, accepting the new impression vividly and keeping it bright to
think upon.

I met the