_Mar._ I found thee through this fellow. I was in the town on law business, and I heard men talk of such a one as thou, and I asked and asked, and found out that thou wast the brother who used to work wi’ me. I’ve come to ask thee to come back to us, and be the man thou wast wont to be. Come, man, be thine old self, thou canst not be better; throw off thy present self, thou canst not be worse! _Dan._ Not worse? Why, man, I’m a king, alone here! Here I live, free from liars and thieves, alone! alone! What, back to the world, the hollow, lying world? Not I! Back to the rock on which my ship was wrecked? Not I! Back to the den of thieves that stripped me? Not I! No, no; I don’t find fish come back to my nets when once they’ve slipped through the meshes, and I’m no more a fool than my fish. See here--I’ve lived here nigh upon four years, and ’cepting some such gaping fool as him (_indicating RIPLEY_), I’ve seen no soul, and no soul’s seen me. I’ve done harm to none, and none’s done harm to me. I’ve told no lies, and no lies ain’t been told me. I’ve robbed no one, and no one’s robbed me. Can any one who walks the world say as much? I’ve lived on the fish I’ve caught, the garden I’ve dug, and I’ve saved money by the nets I’ve made, not much--a trifle to such as thou, and I’ve sent it far from here--I never keep it here, no, no. I’ve no hopes, no cares, no fears. And thou askest me to go back to the foul old world, the world that poor dead and gone Jonas Marple was robbed in; the bitter black world that blighted his poor harmless life. No! I’m going to bide here. _Mar._ Well, as thou wilt, Jonas. _Dan._ Dan’l--that’s my name, Dan’l Druce. Jonas Marple died the day his wife left him. His wife’s a widow, and, mayhap, married again. God bless her! _Rip._ Thou’lt do no good wi’ him, there’s a devil’s flare in his eyes; best let him bide. _Dan._ Ay, best let him bide. I’m a poor thing of skin and bone; and this here arm, which made light of a forty-pound hammer four years since, is but a soft-roed thing now; but when muscle went out, devil come in; steer clear o’ me, and let me bide. _Mar._ Thou’rt sadly changed: it’s fearsome to see a good, honest, hearty soul changed into the white-faced ghost of what he was. Time was when every beggar had the pulling of thy poor purse-strings, and none were turned empty away from the door. To think that Jonas Marple should have earned the name of miser!