“That may be. But as you seem down on him I must stand up for him, since above all things I love fair play. Now I’ll tell you a very pretty story, and one which the children would say was ever so funny. Listen. You know that every night when Deborah is asleep you fly off to your own land, and are, I should say, mightily glad to get there. But I am not so fortunate—at least of late months I have preferred to stay. So each night, being left alone, I have prepared a very pretty dream—very realistic, very simple, just the kind of thing a child would appreciate. Having played the part of God to such perfection I now took to playing the part of the farmer. I had learnt all his expressions both of word and feature, and could act up to his part to perfection. Naturally Deborah was taken in. She would put her arms round me and kiss me in the most affectionate way possible. Meeting with thus much encouragement I was far too kind-hearted to give it up. I made many excuses for my long absence, and even went so far once as to explain that that had not been me in the coffin at all, but someone else. _That_, as you know, was quite the truth. But though, truth to tell, I got a bit sick of it, I always had my reward in the morning. She would awake with a face as round as the moon, to be changed in less than five minutes to one as long, or longer than the proverbial fiddle. Now Virginius, who is always staring and gaping and never for two seconds shuts his eyes, saw all this, and he raised his saintly voice to interpose. He said it wasn’t written down in the book, but I was able to prove to him that it was. Well, after that he bided his time, and one night just lately he descended to concoct a dream himself. Naturally I was curious to see what it would be. It was a most artistic one. He didn’t do it all himself; he got one of the spirits up there to paint the scenery for him.