"No, not from there; from the one that burns blue in evening between sun
and sea. Men say he worked as a stoker or something of the kind when
he was at home, and got trifling with a volcano tap, and was lapped in
hot mud, and blown out here. My brother saw him about a week ago."

"Now what you say is down right curious. I thought I had a monopoly of
that kind of business in this sphere of yours. I should be tremendously
interested to see him."

"No you wouldn't," briefly answered the woodman. "He is the stupidest
fool ever blown from one world to another--more stupid to look at than
you are. He is a gaseous, wavey thing, so glum you can't get two words
a week out of him, and so unstable that you never know when you are with
him and when the breeze has drifted him somewhere else."

I could but laugh and insist, with all respect to the woodcutter, such
an individual were worth the knowing however unstable his constitution;
at which the man shrugged his shoulders and changed the conversation,
as though the subject were too trivial to be worth much consideration.

This individual gave me the pleasure of his company until nearly sundown,
and finding I took an interest in things of the forest, pointed out more
curious plants and trees than I have space to mention. Two of them,
however, cling to my memory very tenaciously. One was a very Circe
amongst plants, the horrible charm of which can never be forgotten.
We were going down a glade when a most ravishing odour fell upon my
nostrils. It was heavenly sweet yet withal there lurked an incredibly,
unexpressibly tempting spice of wickedness in it. The moment he caught
that ambrosial invitation in the air my woodman spit fiercely on the
ground, and taking a plug of wool from his pouch stuffed his nostrils up.