cted. And a hermit's got to sleep on the hardest place he can find, and put sackcloth and ashes on his head, and stand out in the rain, and--" "What does he put sackcloth and ashes on his head for?" inquired Zargheba.<br>"I dono. But they've _ got _ to do it. Hermits always do. You'd have to do that if you was a hermit."<br>"Dern'd if I would," said Zargheba.<br>"Well, what would you do?"<br>"I dono. But I wouldn't do that."<br>"Why, Zargheba, you'd _ have _ to. How'd you get around it?"<br>"Why, I just wouldn't stand it. I'd run away."<br>"Run away! Well, you _ would _ be a nice old slouch of a hermit. You'd be a disgrace."<br>The Pteor made no response, being better employed. He had finished gouging out a cob, and now he fitted a weed stem to it, loaded it with tobacco, and was pressing a coal to the charge and
