Neither water nor fire nor men. But from men Skavinski had not suffered
much; he had met good men oftener than bad ones.

But it seemed to him that all the four elements were persecuting him.
Those who knew him said that he had no luck, and with that they
explained everything. He himself became somewhat of a monomaniac. He
believed that some mighty and vengeful hand was pursuing him everywhere,
on all lands and waters. He did not like, however, to speak of this;
only at times, when some one asked him whose hand that could be, he
pointed mysteriously to the Polar Star, and said, "It comes from that
place." In reality his failures were so continuous that they were
wonderful, and might easily drive a nail into the head, especially of
the man who had experienced them. But Skavinski had the patience of an
Indian, and that great calm power of resistance which comes from truth
of heart. In his time he had received in Hungary a number of bayonet-
thrusts because he would not grasp at a stirrup which was shown as means
of salvation to him, and cry for quarter. In like manner he did not bend
to misfortune. He crept up against the mountain as industriously as an
ant. Pushed down a hundred times, he began his journey calmly for the
hundred and first time. He was in his way a most peculiar original. This
old soldier, tempered, God knows in how many fires, hardened in
suffering, hammered and forged, had the heart of a child. In the time of
the epidemic in Cuba, the vomito attacked him because he had given to
the sick all his quinine, of which he had a considerable supply, and
left not a grain to himself.

There had been in him also this wonderful quality,--that after so many
disappointments he was ever full of confidence, and did not lose hope
that all would be well yet. In winter he grew lively, and predicted
great events. He waited for these events with impatience, and lived with