"Ah!" said Brother Barnabas. "I begin to perceive—"
"I was sure you would!" said the man. "I am misunderstood—"
"Not by me!" said Brother Barnabas. "Begone!" and he shut the door on him.
THE FATES
The high Fates sat weaving, weaving at their loom, and I, poor soul, came crying at the door, asking a boon at their hands.
Those great ladies did not turn their heads, nor stint the flying shuttle; but one of them spoke, and she the youngest, and her voice was like the wind over the sea.