never seen Seneca Sprague save in his flapping duster and
straw hat, would scarcely have recognized him now.

Ruth, after the fire, when the prophet had been made to understand that
all his possessions for which he really cared were saved, had induced
him to come home with them to eat the Thanksgiving feast.

"It is fitting that we should give thanks--yea, verily," agreed Seneca,
his mind rather more muddled than usual by the excitement of the fire.
"I saw the armies of Armageddon advancing with flame-tipped spears and
flights of flashing arrows. They were all--all--aimed to overwhelm me.
But their hands were stayed--they could not prevail against me. Thank
you, young man," he added, briskly, to Neale O'Neil. "You have a pretty
wit, and by it you have saved my library--my books that could not be
duplicated. I have the only Apocrypha extant with notes by the great
Swedenborg. Do you know the life of George Washington, young man?"

"Pretty well, sir, thank you," said Neale, gravely.

"It is well. Study it. That great being who sired our glorious country,
is yet to come again. And he will purge the nation with fire and cleanse
it with hyssop. Verily, it shall come to pass in that day----"

"But we mustn't keep Mrs. MacCall waiting for us, Mr. Sprague," Ruth had
interrupted him by saying. "You can tell us all about it later."

They had bundled him into a carriage near the burned dock, to hide his
torn duster and wild appearance, and had brought him to the old Corner
House--Ruth and Agnes and Neale. There he was soon quieted. Neale helped
him remove the traces of the struggle he had had with those who kept him
from going into the fire, and likewise helped him dress for dinner.

Uncle Peter Stower's ancient wardrobe furnished the most of Seneca's
holiday garb. "Mr. Stower was a meaty man," the prophet said, in some
scorn. "His girth should have been upon his conscience, for verily he
lived for the greater part of his life on the fat of the land. His
latter days were lean ones, it is true; but they could not absolve him
from his youthful gastronomic sins."

Ruth had some fear that the odd, old fellow might make trouble at the
table; but Seneca Sprague had not always lived the untamed life he now
did. He had been well brought up, and had associated with the best
families of Milton and the county in his younger days.

Mr. Howbridge was surprised to find Seneca Sprague sitting in the
ancient parlor of the old Corner Hous