ut the simple force of this love for humanity changed all that in a
very short space of time; and before he died he came to be known as the
Father of the Village and was held in great love and veneration by all.

A short time before his end, however, he began to act queerly. He spent
his money just as usefully and wisely, but the shock of sudden wealth
after a life of poverty, people said, had unsettled his mind. He claimed
to see things that others did not see, to hear voices, and to have
visions. Evidently, he was not of the harmless, foolish, visionary
order, but a man of character and of great personal force, for the
people became divided in their opinions, and the vicar, good man,
regarded and treated him as a "special case." For many, his name and
atmosphere became charged almost with a spiritual influence that was
not of the best. People quoted texts about him; kept when possible out
of his way, and avoided his house after dark. None understood him, but
though the majority loved him, an element of dread and mystery became
associated with his name, chiefly owing to the ignorant gossip of the
few.

A grove of pine trees behind the farm--the girl pointed them out to me
on the slope of the hill--he said was the Wood of the Dead, because just
before anyone died in the village he saw them walk into that wood,
singing. None who went in ever came out again. He often mentioned the
names to his wife, who usually published them to all the inhabitants
within an hour of her husband's confidence; and it was found that the
people he had seen enter the wood--died. On warm summer nights he would
sometimes take an old stick and wander out, hatless, under the pines,
for he loved this wood, and used to say he met all his old friends
there, and would one day walk in there never to return. His wife tried
to break him gently off this habit, but he always had his own way; and
once, when she followed and found him standing under a great pine in the
thickest portion of the grove, talking earnestly to someone she could
not see, he turned and rebuked her very gently, but in such a way that
she never repeated the experiment, saying--

"You should never interrupt me, Mary, when I am talking with the others;
for they teach me, remember, wonderful things, and I must learn all I
can before I go to join them."

This story went like wild-fire through the village, increasing with
every repetition, until at length everyone was able to give an acc