wild freaks, do all sorts of grand things, and perhaps never come
back to the tanning any more."

"Never any more?"

"No! no! I spoke hastily. I did not mean I ever should do such a
wrong thing; but merely that I sometimes feel the wish to do it. I
can't help it; it's my Apollyon that I have to fight with--everybody
keeps a private Apollyon, I fancy. Now, Phineas, be content;
Apollyon is beaten down."

He rose up, but I thought that, in the red glow of the twilight, he
looked rather pale. He stretched his hand to help me up from the
grass. We went into the house together, silently.

After supper, when the chimes struck half-past nine, John prepared to
leave as usual. He went to bid good-night to my father, who was
sitting meditatively over the fireless hearth-place, sometimes poking
the great bow-pot of fennel and asparagus, as in winter he did the
coals: an instance of obliviousness, which, in my sensible and acute
father, argued very deep cogitation on some subject or other.

"Good-night," said John, twice over, before his master heard him.

"Eh?--Oh, good-night, good-night, lad! Stay! Halifax, what hast
thee got to do to-morrow?"

"Not much, unless the Russian hides should come in; I cleared off the
week's accounts last night, as usual."