been thinking that I am a fool. My life
is swept as bare as a hermit's cell. There is nothing in it but a dream,
a thought of God, which does not satisfy me."

The singular smile deepened on his companion's face. "You are ready,
then," he suggested, "to renounce your new religion and go back to that
of your father?"

"No; I renounce nothing, I accept nothing. I do not wish to think about
it. I only wish to live."

"A very reasonable wish, and I think you are about to see its
accomplishment. Indeed, I may even say that I can put you in the way of
securing it. Do you believe in magic?"

"I do not know whether I believe in anything. This is not a day on which
I care to make professions of faith. I believe in what I see. I want
what will give me pleasure."

"Well," said the old man, soothingly, as he plucked a leaf from the
laurel-tree above them and dipped it in the spring, "let us dismiss the
riddles of belief. I like them as little as you do. You know this is a
Castalian fountain. The Emperor Hadrian once read his fortune here from
a leaf dipped in the water. Let us see what this leaf tells us. It is
already turning yellow. How do you read that?"

"Wealth," said Hermas, laughing, as he looked at his mean garments.

"And here is a bud on the stem that seems to be swelling. What is that?"

"Pleasure," answered Hermas, bitterly.

"And here is a tracing of wreaths upon the surface. What do you make of
that?"

"What you will," said Hermas, not even taking the trouble to look.
"Suppose we say success and fame?"

"Yes," said the stranger; "it is all written here. I promise that you
shall enjoy it all. But you do not need to believe in my promise. I am
not in the habit of requiring faith of those whom I would serve. No such
hard conditions for me! There is only one thing that I ask. This is the
season that you Christians call the Christmas, and you have taken up the
pagan custom of exchanging gifts. Well, if I give to you, you must give
to me. It is a small thing, and really the thing you can best afford to
part with: a single word--the name of Him you profess to worship. Let me
take that word and all that belongs to it entirely out of your life,
so that you shall never hear it or speak it again. You will be richer
without it. I promise you everything, and this is all I ask in return.
Do you consent?"

"Yes. I consent," said Hermas, mocking. "If you can take your price, a
word, you can keep your promise, a dream.