nto the fields of knowledge. Multicharged by his mother, the boy
began to fire off, "I am not mad, no, am not mad." Mrs. Stuvic, who had
been remarkably quiet, got up and remarked as she passed Milford: "This
lets me out; yes, you bet!"

The Professor applauded the youngster. He would be a great man, some
day. He had the voice and the manner of the true orator. Only seven
years old? Quite remarkable. His mother stroked his hair, and said that,
in fact, he would not be seven till the eighteenth of September. At this
the Professor was much surprised. Really a remarkable boy.

Mr. Josh Spence, a fat man rounding out a corner of the room with his
retiring flesh, was called upon for a song. He was modest, and he
declined, but yielded upon persuasion, and in strained tenor sang
"Marguerite."

"Do you like his voice?" Gunhild asked.

"It's not big enough to fit him," Milford answered. "But let him sing.
It keeps the boy quiet."

"Oh, are you not ashamed? He is a nice little man, and his mother loves
him so."

"And only seven years old," said Milford.

"You must not make fun. The boy is her heart. You must not laugh at a
heart."

Milford flinched. He had not said the right thing. "Mitchell, the man
who works with me, called me down for saying something that I oughtn't
to have said, and I apologized, and we shook hands. I apologize to you.
Shall we shake hands?"

She shook her head. "No, it will not be necessary. You do not mean to be
cruel."

This touched him. He tried to hide himself with a laugh. She looked at
him earnestly, and his face sobered. He thought of the night before, his
kneeling to her on the floor of the haunted house, and felt that it
would be a comfort to drop upon his knees again, not to talk of the wind
rising among the trees, but to tell her that she had clasped her hands
about his heart.

"Shall we go out on the veranda?" he asked, eating her with his glutton
eyes.

"No, it is getting late. See, Mrs. Goodwin is telling the Professor
good-night. I must go too."

"May I see you again soon?"

"Oh, you may come. Mrs. Goodwin will not care."

"But do you want me to--do you care if I come?"

"Yes, I will like for you to come. We will be friends."

"And shall we go over into the woods where the mandrakes are in bloom?"

"Yes, Mrs. Goodwin likes the flowers that grow in the woods. She calls
them beautiful barbarians."

Mrs. Stuvic took the lantern down from under the eaves of the veranda.