Once more night was reigning, but the frost had gone. It was cold, but with the chilliness of late spring, not winter, and the gusty wind blew heavy clouds across the sky. A rainy mist hid the mountains, and added darkness to the already dreary night. And even as the night was indistinct and gloomy, the Spirits were indistinct and gloomy too. The soughing, sighing wind as it passed among the branches was miserable, but then it is this same dreary wind, they say, that purifies and clears the air. “The old home, as they call it, is to be broken up,” said Plucritus. “The farm was a very bad speculation. It has never paid.” “Who is to blame?” asked Genius. “Why, the farmer. He is one of those delightfully amusing and interesting men so rarely met, who can legislate better for other people than for themselves. He gives other people advice gratis, they take it and prosper. He gives himself advice, and follows it, then fails.” “Yet,” said Genius, slowly, “I respect and like the farmer. He is a man of well balanced and proportioned judgment.” “Oh, yes. That makes him the more interesting. He’s a bad speculator, that’s all. Personally, I am not particularly fond of him, you know.” Genius laughed. “That should be a mark in his favour,” he said. Plucritus laughed in turn. “Well, no. I am not fond of him, but I’m going to cultivate his acquaintance more. When I am interested in a man I always cultivate his acquaintance. Humanity is so very interesting.” “Thousands of years have not altered it then for you?” Plucritus shook his head. “Oh, no. We tire of our playthings but do not lose our interest in the game. Besides, where you are I must of necessity be.” “But you mistake. I am not with the farmer, I am simply bound to have an interest in one of his children.” “And I have an interest in the same child, and therefore through that child an interest in the farmer. Not that I can do much, but still I can watch the game, and help when needed.” “You do not mean to work him any harm?” “Oh, no. I am powerless to work real harm, you know, being but an inferior power. Let him but pray to God Almighty and he’s pretty safe.” “Yet to-night I am gloomy and ill at ease.” Hereat Plucritus burst out laughing. “You’re a fool,” he said. “Why don’t you go away and leave them? Tawdry, poor and plebeian—what are you dreaming about? Go away now and you are doing the greatest kindness; stay, and you will only create misery and death. You can go to hundreds who will repay and appreciate your presence—whilst where you are you will never be understood. The sight of that child’s puny face and figure sickens me. You are going the right way to make yourself the laughing-stock of all.