t I concluded that it was
better to face about, and meet my pursuer with an air of fearlessness. I
did so, and held out my hand to her as she came up.

"How do you do, Silvy?" I said.

"Oh, no!" said Silvy, thrusting her hands behind her, laughing softly,
and shaking her head. "Not with the queen of heaven! Not with the queen
of heaven!"

I thought I detected Emily's derisive influence in this poor, simple
creature's words. Silvy was so perfectly mild and harmless in appearance,
however, that I began to feel reassured.

"I've heard about you, Silvy," I continued, cheerfully. "I'm the teacher,
you know. You've heard them speak of the teacher?"

"So glad," continued Silvy, in the same low, cooing tone; "so glad to
meet the queen of heaven."

"Hush!" said I then. "You mustn't say that again. Draw your shawl up
tighter." For in spite of the bonfire, the wind was blowing cold on the
hill.

While I spoke Silvy had become absorbed in watching the fire again. I
would have walked quietly away, but as I turned to go she thrust her head
toward me quickly and whispered:--

"Wait! don't--you--ever--tell!"

Silvy put her hand to her lips.

"No," said I, smiling.

"Silvy never told," she went on; "except to you. You've got a key.
Silvy's got a key. She keeps things all locked up, Silvy does. Emily
don't have any key. She talks--she talks all over--don't you tell--but
Silvy lives with Emily--so bad," said Silvy, heaving a gentle sigh and
speaking in a tone of the deepest confidence; "so bad not to have any
key."

"That's true, I think," said I, beginning to find my strange companion
rather interesting.

"Yes." Silvy nodded her head several times as though we understood, we
two, and she was delighted to have discovered the fact.

Then her eyes wandered again to the fire, and she resumed her happy,
smiling conversation with herself.

I thought she had forgotten me, or concluded not to unlock anything with
her key, when she turned slowly and looked at me, and seemed to gather up
the lost train of her ideas in my face.

"Silvy watched the fishermen at Emily's," she went on. "They said, 'Poor
Silvy!' 'See you again next time, Silvy!' They are very p'lite, thank
you, and they laugh once. 'Ha! ha!' But David Rollin, he laughs twice.
'Ha! ha!' and behind his sleeve, too. Such things are damnable!"

Silvy's dulcet tones ran over that hard word with the mildest and softest
of accents.

"And they bring wine," she continue