he loosed his tongue and poured the history of his own recent misfortunes into the ears of his astonished listener.

When he had finished, Miles said to himself —

“Lo, what an imagination he hath! Verily, this is no common mind; else, crazed or sane, it could not weave so straight and gaudy a tale as this out of the airy nothings wherewith it hath wrought this curious romaunt. Poor ruined little head, it shall not lack friend or shelter whilst I bide with the living. He shall never leave my side; he shall be my pet, my little comrade. And he shall be cured! — ay, made whole and sound — then will he make himself a name — and proud shall I be to say, ‘Yes, he is mine — I took him, a homeless little ragamuffin, but I saw what was in him, and I said his name would be heard some day —