rther.
Perhaps you have this night learned a lesson that will induce you to
abandon such desperate, criminal ventures."

Josie stood up.

"I wish I knew how you managed to catch me," she said, with a sigh.

"You were watching my house to-night, waiting until I was safely in bed
before coming here. I happened to leave my room for a little air, and
going out my back door I passed around the house and stood at the
corner, in deep shade. My eyes were good enough to distinguish a form
lurking under the tree by the river bank. I went in, put out my light,
and returned to my former position. You watched the house and I watched
you. You are not very clever, for all your slyness. You will never be
clever enough to become a good thief--meaning a successful thief. After
a half hour I saw you rise and take the path to the village. I followed
you. Do you understand now? God has protected the just and humbled the
wicked."

That final sentence surprised the girl. Coming from his lips, it
shocked her. In his former speech he had not denounced her crime, but
only her indiscretion and the folly of her attempt. Suddenly he
referred to God as his protector, asserting his personal uprightness as
warrant for Divine protection; and, singularly enough, his tone was
sincere.

Josie hesitated whether to go or not, for Old Swallowtail seemed in a
talkative mood and she had already discovered a new angle to his
character. By way of diversion she began to cry.

"I--I know I'm wicked," she sobbed; "it's wrong to steal; I know it is.
But I--I--need the money, and you've got lots of it; and--and--I
thought you must be just as wicked as I am!"

His expression changed to one of grim irony.

"Yes," said he, "by common report I am guilty of every sin in the
calendar. Do you know why?"

"No; of course I don't!" she answered, softening her sobs to hear more
clearly.

"Years ago, when I was a young man, I stabbed a fellow-student in the
neck--a dreadful wound--because he taunted me about my mode of dress. I
was wearing the only clothes my eccentric father would provide me with.
I am wearing the same style of costume yet, as penance for that
dastardly act--caused by an ungovernable temper with which I have been
cursed from my birth. I would have entered the service of God had it
not been for that temper. I am unable to control it, except by avoiding
undue contact with my fellow men. That is why. I am living here, a
recluse, when I should be taki