en this
branch, but every one believed in its existence.

When he had more fish than he wanted, he did not sell it, but gave it
away.

The poor people took his gift, but were little grateful, for they knew
the secret of his medlar branch. Such devices cannot be permitted. It is
unlawful to trick the sea out of its treasures.

He was a fisherman; but he was something more. He had, by instinct, or
for amusement, acquired a knowledge of three or four trades. He was a
carpenter, worker in iron, wheelwright, boat-caulker, and, to some
extent, an engineer. No one could mend a broken wheel better than he
could. He manufactured, in a fashion of his own, all the things which
fishermen use. In a corner of the Bu de la Rue he had a small forge and
an anvil; and the sloop having but one anchor, he had succeeded, without
help, in making another. The anchor was excellent. The ring had the
necessary strength; and Gilliatt, though entirely uninstructed in this
branch of the smith's art, had found the exact dimensions of the stock
for preventing the over-balancing of the fluke ends.

He had patiently replaced all the nails in the planks by rivets; which
rendered rust in the holes impossible.

In this way he had much improved the sea-going qualities of the sloop.
He employed it sometimes when he took a fancy to spend a month or two in
some solitary islet, like Chousey or the Casquets. People said, "Ay! ay!
Gilliatt is away;" but this was a circumstance which nobody regretted.

VII

A FIT TENANT FOR A HAUNTED HOUSE

Gilliatt was a man of dreams, hence his daring, hence also his timidity.
He had ideas on many things which were peculiarly his own.

There was in his character, perhaps, something of the visionary and the
transcendentalist. Hallucinations may haunt the poor peasant like
Martin, no less than the king like Henry IV. There are times when the
unknown reveals itself in a mysterious way to the spirit of man. A
sudden rent in the veil of darkness will make manifest things hitherto
unseen, and then close again upon the mysteries within. Such visions
have occasionally the power to effect a transfiguration in those whom
they visit. They convert a poor camel-driver into a Mahomet; a peasant
girl tending her goats into a Joan of Arc. Solitude generates a certain
amount of sublime exaltation. It is like the smoke arising from the
burning bush. A mysterious lucidity of mind results, which converts the
student into a seer,