to　call　a　gripsack。
  Mr。　Cyprian　Paynter　was　an　American　who　lived　in　Italy。　　There　was　a　good　deal　more　to　be　said　about　him；　for　he　was　a　very　acute　and　cultivated　gentleman；　but　those　two　facts　would；　perhaps；　cover　most　of　the　others。　　Storing　his　mind　like　a　museum　with　the　wonder　of　the　Old　World；　but　all　lit　up　as　by　a　window　with　the　wonder　of　the　New；　he　had　fallen　heir　to　some　thing　of　the　unique　critical　position　of　Ruskin　or　Pater；　and　was　further　famous　as　a　discoverer　of　minor　poets。　　He　was　a　judicious　discoverer；　and　he　did　not　turn　all　his　minor　poets　into　major　prophets。　If　his　geese　were　swans；　they　were　not　all　Swans　of　Avon。　　He　had　even　incurred　the　deadly　suspicion　of　classicism　by　differing　from　his　young　friends；　the　Punctuist　Poets；　when　they　produced　versification　consisting　exclusively　of　commas　and　colons。　He　had　a　more　humane　sympathy　with　the　modern　flame　kindled　from　the　embers　of　Celtic　mythology；　and　it　was　in　reality　the　recent　appearance　of　a　Cornish　poet；　a　sort　of　parallel　to　the　new　Irish　poets；　which　had　brought　him　on　this　occasion　to　Cornwall。　　He　was；　indeed；　far　too　well…mannered　to　allow　a　host　to　guess　that　any　pleasure　was　being　sought　outside　his　own　hospitality。　He　had　a　long　standing　invitation　from　Vane；　whom　he　had　met　in　Cyprus　in　the　latter's　days　of　undiplomatic　diplomacy；　and　Vane　was　not　aware　that　relations　had　only　been　thus　renewed　after　the　critic　had　read　Merlin　and　Other　Verses；　by　a　new　writer　named　John　Treherne。　　Nor　did　the　Squire　even　begin　to　realize　the　much　more　diplomatic　diplomacy　by　which　he　had　been　induced　to　invite　the　local　bard　to　lunch　on　the　very　day　of　the　American　critic's　arrival。
  Mr。　Paynter　was　still　standing　with　his　gripsack；　gazing　in　a　trance　of　true　admiration　at　the　hollowed　crags；　topped　by　the　gray；　grotesque　wood；　and　crested　finally　by　the　three　fantastic　trees。
  〃It　is　like　being　shipwrecked　on　the　coast　of　fairyland；〃　he　said；
  〃I　hope　you　haven't　been　shipwrecked　much；〃　replied　his　host；　smiling。　〃I　fancy　Jake　here　can　look　after　you　very　well。〃
  Mr。　Paynter　looked　across　at　the　boatman　and　smiled　also。　〃I　am　afraid；〃　he　said；　〃our　friend　is　not　quite　so　enthusiastic　for　this　landscape　as　I　am。〃
  〃Oh；　the　trees；　I　suppose！〃　said　the　Squire　wearily。
  The　boatman　was　by　normal　trade　a　fisherman；　but　as　his　house；　built　of　black　tarred　timber；　stood　right　on　the　foreshore　a　few　yards　from　the　pier；　he　was　employed　in　such　cases　as　a　sort　of　ferryman。　He　was　a　big；　black…browed　youth　generally　silent；　but　something　seemed　now　to　sting　him　into　speech。
  〃Well；　sir；〃　he　said；　〃everybody　knows　it's　not　natural。　Everybody　knows　the　sea　blights　trees　and　beats　them　under；　when　they're　only　just　trees。　　These　things　thrive　like　some　unholy　great　seaweed　that　don't　belong　to　the　land　at　all。　It's　like　thethe　blessed　sea　serpent　got　on　shore；　Squire；　and　eating　everything　up。〃
  〃There　is　some　stupid　legend；〃　said　Squire　Vane　gruffly。　〃But　come　up　into　the　garden；　I　want　to　introduce　you　to　my　daughter。〃
  When；　however；　they　reached　the　little　table　under　the　tree；　the　apparently　immovable　young　lady　had　moved　away　after　all；　and　it　was　some　time　before　they　came　upon　the　track　of　her。　She　had　risen；　though　languidly；　and　wandered　slowly　along　the　upper　path　of　the　terraced　garden　looking　down　on　the　lower　path　where　it　ran　closer　to　the　main　bulk　of　the　little　wood　by　the　sea。
  Her　languor　was　not　a　feebleness　but　rather　a　fullness　of　life；　like　that　of　a　child　half　awake；　she　seemed　to　stretch　herself　and　enjoy　everything　without　noticing　anything。　She　passed　the　wood；　into　the　gray　huddle　of　which　a　single　white　path　vanished　through　a　black　hole。　　Along　this　part　of　the　terrace　ran　something　like　a　low　rampart　or　balustrade；　embowered　with　flowers　at　intervals；　and　she　leaned　over　it；　looking　down　At　another　glimpse　of　the　glowing　sea　behind　the　clump　of　trees；　and　on　another　irregular　path　tumbling　down　to　the　pier　and　the　boatman's　cottage　on　the　beach。
  As　she　gazed；　sleepily　enough；　she　saw　that　a　strange　figure　was　very　actively　climbing　the　path；　apparently　coming　from　the　fisherman's　cottage；　so　actively　that　a　moment　afterwards　it　came　out　between　the　trees　and　stood　upon　the　path　just　below　her。　It　was　not　only　a　figure　strange　to　her；　but　one　somewhat　strange　in　itself。　　It　was　that　of　a　man　still　young；　and　seeming　somehow　younger　than　his　own　clothes；　which　were　not　only　shabby　but　antiquated；　clothes　common　enough　in　texture；　yet　carried　in　an　uncommon　fashion。　He　wore　what　was　presumably　a　light　waterproof；　perhaps　through　having　come　off　the　sea；　but　it　was　held　at　the　throat　by　one　button；　and　hung；　sleeves　and　all；　more　like　a　cloak　than　a　coat。　He　rested　one　bony　hand　on　a　black　stick；　under　the　shadow　of　his　broad　hat　his　black　hair　hung　down　in　a　tuft　or　two。　His　face；　which　was　swarthy；　but　rather　handsome　in　itself；　wore　something　that　may　have　been　a　slightly　embarrassed　smile；　but　had　too　much　the　appearance　of　a　sneer。
  Whether　this　apparition　was　a　tramp　or　a　trespasser；　or　a　friend　of　some　of　the　fishers　or　woodcutters；　Barbara　Vane　was　quite　unable　to　guess。　He　removed　his　hat；　still　with　his　unaltered　and　rather　sinister　smile；　and　said　civilly：　　〃Excuse　me。　　The　Squire　asked　me　to　call。〃　Here　he　caught　sight　of　Martin；　the　woodman；　who　was　shifting　along　the　path；　thinning　the　thin　trees；　and　the　stranger　made　a　familiar　salute　with　one　finger。
  The　girl　did　not　know　what　to　say。　　〃Have　youhave　you　come　about　cutting　the　wood？〃　she　asked　at　last。
  〃I　would　I　were　so　honest　a　man；〃　replied　the　stranger。　〃Martin　is；　I　fancy；　a　distant　cousin　of　mine；　we　Cornish　folk　just　round　here　are　nearly　all　related；　you　know；　but　I　do　not　cut　wood。　I　do　not　cut　anything；　except；　perhaps；　capers。　　I　am；　so　to　speak；　a　jongleur。〃
  〃A　what？〃　asked　Barbara。
  〃A　minstrel；　shall　we　say？〃　answered　the　newcomer；　and　looked　up　at　her　more　steadily。　　During　a　rather　odd　silence　their　eyes　rested　on　each　other。　　What　she　saw　has　been　already　noted；　though　by　her；　at　any　rate；　not　in　the　least　understood。　What　he　saw　was　a　decidedly　beautiful　woman　with　a　statuesque　face　and　hair　that　shone　in　the　sun　like　a　helmet　of　copper。
  〃Do　you　know；〃　he　went　on；　〃that　in　this　old　place；　hundreds　of　years　ago；　a　jongleur　may　really　have　stood　where　I　stand；　and　a　lady　may　really　have　looked　over　that　wall　and　thrown　him　money？〃
  〃Do　you　want　money？〃　she　asked；　all　at　sea。
  〃Well；〃　drawled　the　stranger；　〃in　the　sense　of　lacking　it；　perhaps；　but　I　fear　there　is　no　place　now　for　a　minstrel；　except　nigger　minstrel。　I　must　apologize　for　not　blacking　my　face。〃
  She　laughed　a　little　in　her　bewilderment；　and　said：　〃Well；　I　hardly　think　you　need　do　that。〃
  〃You　think　the　natives　here　are　dark　enough　already；　perhaps；〃　he　observed　calmly。　　〃After　all；　we　are　aborigines；　and　are　treated　as　such。〃
  She　threw　out　some　desperate　remark　about　the　weather　or　the　scenery；　and　wondered　what　would　happen　next。
  〃The　prospect　is　certainly　beautiful；〃　he　assented；　in　the　same　enigmatic　manner。　　〃There　is　only　one　thing　in　it　I　am　doubtful　about。〃
  While　she　stood　in　silence　he　slowly　lifted　his　black　stick　like　a　long　black　finger　and　pointed　it　at　the　peacock　trees　above　the　wood。　And　a　queer　feeling　of　disquiet　fell　on　the　girl；　as　if　he　were；　by　that　mere　gesture；　doing　a　destructive　act　and　could　send　a　blight　upon　the　garden。
  The　strained　and　almost　painful　silence　was　broken　by　the　voice　of　Squire　Vane；　loud　even　while　it　was　still　distant。
  〃We　couldn'tt　make　out　where　you'd　got　to；　Barbara；〃　he　said。　〃This　is　my　friend；　Mr。　Cyprian　Paynter。〃　　The　next　moment　he　saw　the　stranger　and　stopped；　a　little　puzzled。　　it　was　only　Mr。　Cyprian　Paynter　himself　who　was　equal　to　the　situation。　He　had　seen　months　ago　a　portrait　of　the　new　Cornish　poet　in　some　American　literary　magazine；　and　he　found　himself；　to　his　surprise；　the　introducer　instead　of　the　introduced。
  〃Why；　Squire；〃　he　said　in　considerable　astonishment；　〃don't　you　know　Mr。　Treherne？　　I　supposed；　of　course；　he　was　a　neighbor。〃
  〃Delighted　to　see　you；　Mr。　Treherne；〃　said　the　Squire；　recovering　his　manners　with　a　certain　genial　confusion。　〃So　pleased　you　were　able　to　come。　　This　is　Mr。　Paynter…my　daughter；〃　and；　turning　with　a　certain　boisterous　embarrassment；　he　led　the　way　to　the　table　under　the　tree。
  Cyprian　Paynter　followed；　inwardly　revolving　a　puzzle　which　had　taken　even　his　experience　by　surprise。　　The　American；　if　intellectually　an　aristocrat；　was　still　socially　and　subconsciously　a　democrat。　It　had　never　crossed　his　mind　that　the　poet　should　be　counted　lucky　to　know　the　squire　and　not　the　squire　to　know　the　poet。　The　honest　patronage　in　Vane's　hospitality　was　something　which　made　Paynter　feel　he　was；　after　all；　an　exile　in　England。
  The　Squire；　anticipating　the　trial　of　luncheon　with　a　strange　literary　man；　had　dealt　with　the　case　tactfully　from　his　own　standpoint。　County　society　might　have　made　the　guest　feel　like　a　fish　out　of　water；　and；　except　for　the　American　critic　and　the　local　lawyer　and　doctor；　worthy　middle…class　people　who　fitted　into　the　picture；　he　had　kept　it　as　a　family　party。　　He　was　a　widower；　and　when　the　meal　had　been　laid　out　o