"I fear I'm trespassing," he said, "in your royal gardens. May I introduce myself? My name is Nisted—Jared Nisted, once an army chaplain, now a tourist."
Was he real, or had I imagined him? "My name is Kate," I answered. "My husband would be ever so pleased to make you welcome. But he's away."
"And are you lonely?"
"Not now." Somehow the pain and fear were gone as though they dared not stay in the serene presence of this dear old saint. "Are you sure," I ventured, "that you're not a—"
"Fairy? Believe me, dear lady, I'm a very commonplace little person.
"A humble admirer of yours, one Tearful George, has been kind enough to bring me here in his buck-board, which has complaining wheels, a creaky body, and such a wheezy horse. He, Tearful George I mean, contracted for seventy-five dollars to bring me to paradise and back; but as we creaked our passage through that weird black forest, I feared my guide had taken the pathway which leads to the other place. I confess, the upper forest frightened me, and now, having come to paradise, I don't want to go back." He sighed. "George," he added, "is making camp up yonder. Mrs. Smith, will you laugh at me very much if I tell you a fairy tale? It's quite a nice one."
"Oh, do!" I begged.
"Well," he began, "you know where the three birch trees are all using a single pool as their mirror?"
Of course these were the Three Graces. Mrs. O'Flynn and I had known for months past that the spot was haunted.
"Each of them," said my visitor, "seems to think the others quite superfluous."