came a knocking
at the outer door.

"Come in!" cried Nicholas Snyders. He spoke in a tone quite kind for
Nicholas Snyders. He felt so sure it was Jan knocking at the door--Jan
Van der Voort, the young sailor, now master of his own ship, come to
demand of him the hand of little Christina. In anticipation, Nicholas
Snyders tasted the joy of dashing Jan's hopes to the ground; of
hearing him plead, then rave; of watching the growing pallor that
would overspread Jan's handsome face as Nicholas would, point by point,
explain to him the consequences of defiance--how, firstly, Jan's old
mother should be turned out of her home, his old father put into prison
for debt; how, secondly, Jan himself should be pursued without remorse,
his ship be bought over his head before he could complete the purchase.
The interview would afford to Nicholas Snyders sport after his own soul.
Since Jan's return the day before, he had been looking forward to it.
Therefore, feeling sure it was Jan, he cried "Come in!" quite cheerily.

But it was not Jan. It was somebody Nicholas Snyders had never set eyes
on before. And neither, after that one visit, did Nicholas Snyders ever
set eyes upon him again. The light was fading, and Nicholas Snyders was
not the man to light candles before they were needed, so that he was
never able to describe with any precision the stranger's appearance.
Nicholas thought he seemed an old man, but alert in all his movements;
while his eyes--the one thing about him Nicholas saw with any
clearness--were curiously bright and piercing.

"Who are you?" asked Nicholas Snyders, taking no pains to disguise his
disappointment.

"I am a pedlar," answered the stranger. His voice was clear and not
unmusical, with just the suspicion of roguishness behind.

"Not wanting anything," answered Nicholas Snyders drily. "Shut the door
and be careful of the step."

But instead the stranger took a chair and drew it nearer, and, himself
in shadow, looked straight into Nicholas Snyders' face and laughed.

"Are you quite sure, Nicholas Snyders? Are you quite sure there is
nothing you require?"

"Nothing," growled Nicholas Snyders--"except the sight of your back."
The stranger bent forward, and with his long, lean hand touched Nicholas
Snyders playfully upon the knee. "Wouldn't you like a soul, Nicholas
Snyders?" he asked.

"Think of it," continued the strange pedlar, before Nicholas could
recover power of speech. "For forty years you have