mit was persuading a faint blaze, "I've an idea. You can cook, can't you ?"
"Cook?" repeated the hermit. "Well, yes, I've had to learn a few things about it, living far from the rathskellars the way I do."
"The very man," rejoiced Mr. Magee. "You must stay here and cook for me—for us."
"Us?" asked the hermit, staring.
"Yes. I forgot to tell you. After Mr. Quimby left me last night, two other amateur hermits hove in view. One is a haberdasher with a broken heart—"
"Woman," cried the triumphant Peters.
"Name, Arabella," laughed Magee. "The other's a college professor who made an indiscreet remark about blondes. You won't mind them, I'm sure, and they may be able to help you a lot with your great work."
"I don't know what Quimby will say," studied the hermit. "I reckon he'll run em out. He's against this thing—afraid of fire."
"Quimby will come later," Mr. Magee assured him, drawing on a dressing-gown. "Just now the idea is a little water in yonder tub, and a nice
