"That is more sensible. His name is Abraham Axtell."
"What sort of person is he?"
"The strangest man in all my parish. I cannot make him out. Have you seen him?"
"No. Is there any harm in my making his acquaintance?"
"What an absurd question!" said Sophie.
"You are quite at liberty to get as many words out of him as he will give, which I warn you will be very few," said the sexton's friendly pastor.
"Is he in need of the small salary your church must give its sexton?" I asked.
"The strangest part of the whole is that he won't take anything for his services; and the motive that induces him to fight the spiders away is past my comprehension. He avoids Sophie and me."
So much for my thread of discovery: a very small fibre, it is true,--a church-sexton performing the office without any reward of gold,--but I twisted it and twirled it round in all the ideal contortions plausible in idealic regions, and fell asleep, with the tower-key under my pillow, and the rising moon shining into my room.
I awoke with my secret safely mine,--quite an achievement for one in no wise heroic; but I do delight in sole possessions.