He had stretched out his arms like one whose plea was of life and death; his face shone with earnestness; his low words throbbed as if his heart were borne upon them for the inspection of its truth and honor.  He was Strang the tragedian, the orator, the conqueror of a legislature, a governor, a dozen juries—­and of human souls.  And as he stood silent for a moment in this attitude Nathaniel rose to his feet, subservient, and believing as others had believed in the fitness of this man.  But as his eyes traveled a dozen paces beyond, he saw the young girl gesturing to him in that same terror, and holding up for him to see a slip of paper upon which she had written.  And when she had caught his eyes she crumpled the paper into a shapeless ball and tossed it just over the landing to the ground below the stair.

“I thank you for the privileges of the island which you have offered me,” said Nathaniel, putting on his hat, “and I shall certainly take advantage of your kindness for a few hours, as I want very much to witness one of your ceremonies which I understand is to take place to-day.  Then, if I have discovered nothing, I shall return to my ship.”

“Ah, you wish to see the whipping?” The king smiled his approval.  “That is one way we have of punishing slight misdemeanors in our kingdom, Captain Plum.  It is an illustration of our intolerance of evil-doers.”  He turned suddenly toward the girl.  “Winnsome, my dear, have you copied the paper I was at work on?  I wish to show it to Captain Plum.”

He walked slowly toward her and for the first time since her warning Nathaniel had an opportunity of observing the girl without fear of being perceived by the prophet.  She was very young, hardly more than a child he would have guessed at first; and yet at a second and more careful glance he knew that she could not be under fifteen—­perhaps sixteen.  Her whole attire was one to add to her childish appearance.  Her hair, which was rather short, fell in lustrous dark curls about her face and upon her neck.  She wore a fitted coat-like blouse, and knee skirts which disclosed a pretty pair of legs and ankles.  As Strang was returning with the paper which she handed to him the girl turned her face to Captain Plum.  Her mouth was formed into a round red O and she pointed anxiously to where she had thrown the note.  The king’s eyes were on his paper and Nathaniel nodded to assure her that he understood.

“I am like a gardener who compels every passing neighbor to go into his back yard and admire his first sprouts,” laughed the prophet jovially.  “In other words, I do a little writing, and I take a kind of childish joy in making other people read it.  But I see this is not in proper shape, so you have escaped.  It is a brief history of Beaver Island written at the request of the Smithsonian Institute, which has already published an article of mine.  If you happen to be on the island to-morrow and should you return to this office I shall certainly have you read it if I have to call all of my sheriffs into service!”