"What a disappointed life he must have had," she said to Hepsey, after walking in silence for some minutes. "I wonder whether he has any heart left."
"Not likely, miss," was the brief reply.
A few weeks later Marion was having quite a jubilee in her parlors. She had invited all the older classes in the mission school, and was entertaining them with a play called "Shadows." At the end of the back parlor was a wide door across which a white curtain was stretched, and the children sitting in the darkened rooms saw behind the curtain scenes which made them open both eyes and mouth in astonishment. A man was sitting in a chair in a doctor's office and the physician was examining him. First the outside of his head, then the inside, taking out with pincers, one tooth after another and putting them in again, taking from the patient's throat tumblers, plates, long-handled kitchen spoons, a hammer, and at last an umbrella, which had to be pulled and jerked, till the patient shrieked.
They were in the midst of all this when Marion heard a familiar voice muttering,—
"Fool's play,—miserable waste—time,—money,—better send them to the penitentiary at once."
Since their late interview Marion had thought much of the strange, lonely old man, and had nearly made up her mind that he only tried to disguise his real feelings by his outlandish manner. She gave him her hand cordially, as she said,—
"I did not invite you to my party, Mr. Lambert, but I am very glad you came. I was just needing some help. My doctor in there needs a new patient: come, I will introduce you to him."
"Patient, eh! Well, I need a doctor badly enough. What do you want me to do?"
"Only to have your head cut off, sir."
"Hem! modest request,—very civil, must say. My head is as 'valuable to me as—yours, for instance."