sky. The man leaned over the gate in an interested manner.

"You must be Captain Hagberd," he said, with easy assurance.

The old man spun round, pulling out his spade, startled by the strange
voice.

"Yes, I am," he answered nervously.

The other, smiling straight at him, uttered very slowly: "You've been
advertising for your son, I believe?"

"My son Harry," mumbled Captain Hagberd, off his guard for once. "He's
coming home tomorrow."

"The devil he is!" The stranger marvelled greatly, and then went on,
with only a slight change of tone: "You've grown a beard like Father
Christmas himself."

Captain Hagberd drew a little nearer, and leaned forward over his
spade. "Go your way," he said, resentfully and timidly at the same time,
because he was always afraid of being laughed at. Every mental
state, even madness, has its equilibrium based upon self-esteem. Its
disturbance causes unhappiness; and Captain Hagberd lived amongst a
scheme of settled notions which it pained him to feel disturbed by
people's grins. Yes, people's grins were awful. They hinted at something
wrong: but what? He could not tell; and that stranger was obviously
grinning--had come on purpose to grin. It was bad enough on the streets,
but he had never before been outraged like this.