The fisherman, a fine, frank fellow, of some thirty years of age, to whom Mr. Armstrong was well known, at least, by reputation, although the recognition was not mutual, endeavored to engage him in conversation, but without effect. Although answering politely any questions, he made no remarks in return, and the conversation soon languished for want of material to support it. Poor Josiah Sill, finding his social qualities not appreciated, soon himself relapsed into silence, wondering what could induce his companion to seek Holden, and connecting his reserve in some mysterious way with the visit. Finding the silence not altogether agreeable, Josiah finally burst out with "Yankee Doodle," which he amused himself with whistling together with some other favorite tunes, until they reached the island. As they approached they caught a glimpse of Holden entering the house, and Josiah landed his passenger, promising to call for him on his return in the afternoon, though Armstrong expressed a doubt whether he should remain so long. "If you ain't here, there won't be no harm done," said the good-natured fellow, "and it won't take a minute to stop." Mr. Armstrong having thanked him and wished him success, advanced to the cabin. He found Holden in the outer room, engaged in his usual employment, when at home, of weaving baskets. A large quantity of prepared saplings, split very thin, lay scattered around him, while bundles of walnut poles, the crude material of his manufacture, were piled up in the corners ready for use. With a quick and dexterous hand the Solitary wove in the ribbon-like pieces, showing great familiarity with the work. Without desisting from his labor, he expressed pleasure at the visit of his friend, and requested him to be seated. "I am honored," he said, "this day. To what shall I ascribe the notice of the wealthy Mr. Armstrong?" There was a slight tone of irony in the words. It probably was observed by Mr. Armstrong, for, with some feeling, he replied: "Speak to me not so coldly. And yet," he added, dejectedly, "I deserve that all the world should reject me. Neither the happy nor the miserable feel sympathy for me." The wayward humor of Holden was evidently softened by the sadness of the sweet, low voice. "Each heart," he said, "knoweth best its own bitterness, and I repent me of my rudeness. But when I saw thee here I could not but remember that I had dwelt long years in this dwelling, and"--he hesitated, and Armstrong finished the sentence: "And you would say this is the first time I have darkened your door. Well may it be called darkness where my unhappy shadow falls. But forgive me: it is only lately that I learned to know you." "Thou errest, James Armstrong," returned Holden, "if thou thinkest thou knowest me, or will ever know me. Yet, after all," he added in a gentler manner, "thou art right. Yes, know me as a fellow sinner, journeying with thee to eternity."