him. Since
the new library, I've dug up information about a thousand disasters I
never dreamed of before, and I contend that if you go back a ways in any
one of 'em, you'll find the fluffy little lady that started the whole
rumpus. So I hunt the woman. I reckon the French would call me the
greatest _cherchez la femme_ in history."

"A fascinating pursuit," laughed Mr. Magee. "I'm glad you've told me
about it, and I shall watch the progress of the work with interest.
Although I can't say that I entirely agree with you. Here and there is a
woman who more than makes amends for whatever trouble her sisters have
caused. One, for instance, with golden hair, and eyes that when they
weep--"

"You're young," interrupted the little man, rising. "There ain't no use
to debate it with you. I might as well try to argue with a storm at sea.
Some men keep the illusion to the end of their days, and I hope you're
one. I reckon I'll start your fire."

He went into the outer room, and Mr. Magee lay for a few moments
listening to his preparations about the fireplace. This was comfort, he
thought. And yet, something was wrong. Was it the growing feeling of
emptiness inside? Undoubtedly. He sat up in bed and leaning over, gazed
into the hermit's basket. The packages he saw there made his feeling of
emptiness the more acute.

"I say, Mr. Peters," he cried, leaping from bed and running into the
other room, where the hermit was persuading a faint blaze, "I've an
idea. You can cook, can't you?"

"Cook?" repeated the hermit. "Well, yes, I've had to learn a few things
about it, living far from the rathskellars the way I do."

"The very man," rejoiced Mr. Magee. "You must stay here and cook for
me--for us."

"Us?" asked the hermit, staring.

"Yes. I forgot to tell you. After Mr. Quimby left me last night, two
other amateur hermits hove in view. One is a haberdasher with a broken
heart--"

"Woman," cried the triumphant Peters.

"Name, Arabella," laughed Magee. "The other's a college professor who
made an indiscreet remark about blondes. You won't mind them, I'm sure,
and they may be able to help you a lot with your great work."

"I don't know what Quimby will say," studied the hermit. "I reckon he'll
run 'em out. He's against this thing--afraid of fire."

"Quimby will come later," Mr. Magee assured him, drawing on a
dressing-gown. "Just now the idea is a little water in yonder tub, and a
nice cheerful breakfast after. It's going to p