something that, thrown straight at the wicked mouth, should silence
it, and by chance his hand lighted on the pedlar's silver flask. In
the same instance Nicholas Snyders' hand had closed upon it also. The
grin had died away.

"Sit down," commanded Nicholas Snyders. "Let us talk further." And
there was that in his voice that compelled the younger man's
obedience.

"You wonder, Jan, why I seek always anger and hatred. I wonder at
times myself. Why do generous thoughts never come to me, as to other
men! Listen, Jan; I am in a whimsical mood. Such things cannot be,
but it is a whim of mine to think it might have been. Sell me your
soul, Jan, sell me your soul, that I, too, may taste this love and
gladness that I hear about. For a little while, Jan, only for a
little while, and I will give you all you desire."

The old man seized his pen and wrote.

"See, Jan, the ship is yours beyond mishap; the mill goes free; your
father may hold up his head again. And all I ask, Jan, is that you
drink to me, willing the while that your soul may go from you and
become the soul of old Nicholas Snyders--for a little while, Jan, only
for a little while."

With feverish hands the old man had drawn the stopper from the
pedlar's flagon, had poured the wine into twin glasses. Jan's
inclination was to laugh, but the old man's eagerness was almost
frenzy. Surely he was mad; but that would not make less binding the
paper he had signed. A true man does not jest with his soul, but the