there was little or no romance in my life. I mar ried early, and stayed married a long time. I came up here for peace and quiet, and because I felt a man ought to read something besides time- tables and tradesmen's bills, and have something over his head besides a first and second mortgage."
"Back to nature, in other words," remarked Mr. Magee.
"Yes, sir—back with a rush. I was down to the village this morning for a few groceries, and I stopped off at Quimby's, as I often do. He told me about you. I help him a lot around the inn, and we arranged I was to stop in and start your fire, and do any other little errands you might want done. I thought we ought to get acquainted, you and me, being as we're both literary men, after a manner of speaking."
"No?" cried Mr. Magee.
"Yes," said the Hermit of Baldpate. "I dip into that work a little now and then. Some of my verses on the joys of solitude have appeared in print—on the post-cards I sell to the guests in the summer. But my life-work, as you might call it, is a book I've had under way for some time. It's
