that he was an ancient elf from the Hartz Mountains.

Mercy could not refrain from laughing in his face, as she retreated a few
steps towards the piazza, and said,--

"It is I who ought to beg your pardon. I had no business to be standing
stock-still in the middle of the highway like a post."

"Sensible young woman! sensible young woman! God bless my soul! don't know
your face, don't know your face," said the old gentleman, peering out
from under the eaves of his eyebrows, and scrutinizing Mercy as a child
might scrutinize a new-comer into his father's house. One could not resent
it, any more than one could resent the gaze of a child. Mercy laughed
again.

"No, sir, you don't know my face. I only came last night," she said.

"God bless my soul! God bless my soul! Fine young woman! fine young woman!
glad to see you,--glad, glad. Girls good for nothing, nothing, nothing at
all, nowadays," jerked on the queer old gentleman, still shifting rapidly
from one foot to the other, and beating time continuously with his cane,
but looking into Mercy's face with so kindly a smile that she felt her
heart warm with affection towards him.

"Your father come with you? Come to stay? I'd like to know ye, child. Like
your face,--good face, good face, very good face," continued the
inexplicable old man. "Don't like many people. People are wolves, wolves,
wolves. 'D like to know you, child. Good face, good face."

"Can he be crazy?" thought Mercy. But the smile and the honest twinkle of