"Yes," answered Mr. Peters, "I told the story to a friend. I thought he was a friend--so he was, but married. My wife got to hear of it. 'So you denied my existence,' she said. 'As a joke,' I told her. 'The joke's on you,' she says. That was the end. She went her way, and I went mine. I'd just unanimously gone her way so long, I was a little dazed at first with my freedom. After fighting for a living alone for a time, I came up here. It's cheap. I get the solitude I need for my book. Not long ago I heard I could go back to her if I apologized." "Stick to your guns," advised Mr. Max. "I'm trying to," Mr. Peters replied. "But it's lonesome here--in winter. And at Christmas in particular. This dressing-gown was a Christmas present from Ellen. She picked it. Pretty, ain't it? You see why I can't come down and cook for you. I might get the fever for society, and shave, and go to Brooklyn, where she's living with her sister." "But," said Mr. Magee, "we're in an awful fix. You've put us there. Mr. Peters, as a man of honor, I appeal to you. Your sense of fairness must tell you my appeal is just. Risk it one more day, and I'll have a cook sent up from the village. Just one day. There's no danger in that. Surely you can resist temptation one little day. A man of your character." Miss Norton rose and stood before Mr. Peters. She fixed him with her eyes--eyes into which no man could gaze and go his way unmoved. "Just one tiny day," she pleaded. Mr. Peters sighed. He rose. "I'm a fool," he said. "I can't help it. I'll take chances on another day. Though nobody knows where it'll lead." "Brooklyn, maybe," whispered Lou Max to Magee in mock horror. The hermit donned his coat, attended to a few household duties, and led the delegation outside. Dolefully he locked the door of his shack. The four started down the mountain. "Back to Baldpate with our cook," said Mr. Magee into the girl's ear. "I know now how Cæsar felt when he rode through Rome with his ex-foes festooned about his chariot wheels." Mr. Max again chose the rear, triumphantly escorting Mr. Peters. As Mr. Magee and the girl swung into the lead, the former was moved to recur to the topic he had handled so amateurishly a short time before. "I'll make you believe in me yet," he said. She did not turn her head. "The moment we reach the inn," he went on "I shall come to you, with the package of money in my hand. Then you'll believe I want to help you--tell me you'll believe then." "Very likely I shall," answered the girl without interest. "If you really do intend to give me that money--no one must know about it." "No one shall know," he answered, "but you and me." They walked on in silence. Then shyly the girl turned her head. Oh, most assuredly, she was desirable. Clumsy as had been his declaration, Mr. Magee resolved to stick to it through eternity. "I'm sorry I spoke as I did," she said. "Will you forgive me?" "Forgive you?" he cried. "Why, I--"