“It is his diffidence,” the good lady told me, “that has caused the young man to fail dismally in this strenuous age of materialism. His is a gentle spirit!”

At their first meeting, she told me, when he called at her home and asked for something to eat, he appeared so shy and embarrassed that she was immediately interested in him. He blushed and stammered in a most pitiable way, and after he had eaten heartily of the roast beef and potatoes placed before him he wanted to hurry away, hardly having the courage to remain and thank his benefactor.

The good lady told me all this in such a serious manner that I felt I must accept it seriously, and when she suggested that I drive over to a neighboring village to meet the boy at the train, because, being unaccustomed to travel, he could never find his way alone to the Colony, I arranged to meet him.

There are simple-minded men—mental defectives—who are oftentimes helpless as children, and I was inclined to put this boy in that class.

But the lad whom I found waiting for me at the station came out to meet me in a manner so self-possessed that for the instant I was startled. The report of him seemed to be much in error.

“I ought not to have put you to all this trouble,” he said, in ready apology.

“The letter,” I replied, “stated that you might not be able to find your way.”

He gave me a sly, shrewd glance, and then, confident that he was understood, he said simply, “Indeed?”

“Naturally you did not confide in the lady who sent you, that you had freighted it through most States as far as the railroads go?”

“No, I did not approach her as a penitent at confessional,” he answered, “but rather as a panhandler at the side door. Confession may help to advance a man spiritually, but to a man living on the material plane, would you advise it?”

“Is it true,” I asked, “that you stammered and blushed when our friend offered you roast beef and potatoes?”

“It is my best canvass,” he replied.

We had driven some distance while this conversation was in progress, and coming to cross-roads, I was uncertain of the direction.

“Go in to that farmhouse, please,” I said to my companion, pointing to a cheerful looking home a short distance from the road, “and inquire the way?”

He alighted quickly and went around to the side door out of my sight. I waited, every moment expecting him to return with the desired information, and was growing impatient when he came out to me, his face beaming with the enthusiasm that follows a successful interview.

“This is your share,” he said, holding out a generous portion of hot apple pie to me. “The lady who lives here is a motherly soul—very proud of her cooking, and the pie did smell most tempting—I could not resist.”

“Did you use your usual ‘blush and stammer’ method to solicit this pastry?” I questioned him.

“No, she was as hungry for my compliments as I was for her apple pie, so we simply made a fair exchange.”

“And the directions back to the Colony?”

“The direction?” and he felt extremely stupid. “I felt all the time that—in my sub-conscious mind—there was a thought trying to assert itself.”

“But the strength of a bad habit,” I remarked, “held back the thought: habit is a strong force for good or evil, for it perpetuates itself by a form, as it were, of auto-suggestion. You know all suggestions are powerful.”

“It is good pie, isn’t it?” he asked, irrelevantly.