me up so then seem too trifling to mention. I don't like to call up all
those dead feelings, now I'm an old man, and ashamed of them.

Jamie and Margaret became a mystery to me. And I was by no means one to
puzzle it out, as I would a sum in the rule-of-three. 'Twas not all
head-work. However, I said nothing. I was mean enough to watch, and too
proud to question.

At last I began to ask myself what I really knew about Jamie. He was
only a poor sailor-boy, whom I had picked up and befriended. And, once
put upon thought, what did I know of Margaret? What did anybody in the
place? Even Mr. Nathaniel only knew her father. Her simple, childish
ways might be all put on. For she could act. I had seen her, one
evening, for our entertainment, imitate the actresses upon the stage.
First, she was a little girl, in a white frock, with a string of coral
about her neck, and curls hanging over her pretty shoulders. She said a
little hymn, and her voice sounded just like a child's. Afterwards, she
was a proud princess, in laces and jewels, a long train, and a bright
crown. Dressed in this way, with her head thrown back, her bosom
heaving, and reciting something she had heard on the stage, we hardly
knew our Margaret.

It was at our house, one stormy evening. Mother would never allow it
again. She said it was countenancing the theatre. Besides, I thought
she'd rather not have me look at Margaret when under the excitement of
acting, for the next day she cautioned me against earthly idols. But
Margaret was my idol.

It was because she was so bewitching to me that I thought it could not
be but that Jamie must be bewitched as well. And it was because he was