“Don’t cry,” Satan said; “they were of no value.”

“But they are gone to hell!”

“Oh, it is no matter; we can make plenty more.”

It was of no use to try to move him; evidently he was wholly without feeling, and could not understand.  He was full of bubbling spirits, and as gay as if this were a wedding instead of a fiendish massacre.  And he was bent on making us feel as he did, and of course his magic accomplished his desire.  It was no trouble to him; he did whatever he pleased with us.  In a little while we were dancing on that grave, and he was playing to us on a strange, sweet instrument which he took out of his pocket; and the music—­but there is no music like that, unless perhaps in heaven, and that was where he brought it from, he said.  It made one mad, for pleasure; and we could not take our eyes from him, and the looks that went out of our eyes came from our hearts, and their dumb speech was worship.  He brought the dance from heaven, too, and the bliss of paradise was in it.

Presently he said he must go away on an errand.  But we could not bear the thought of it, and clung to him, and pleaded with him to stay; and that pleased him, and he said so, and said he would not go yet, but would wait a little while and we would sit down and talk a few minutes longer; and he told us Satan was only his real name, and he was to be known by it to us alone, but he had chosen another one to be called by in the presence of others; just a common one, such as people have—­Philip Traum.

It sounded so odd and mean for such a being!  But it was his decision, and we said nothing; his decision was sufficient.

We had seen wonders this day; and my thoughts began to run on the pleasure it would be to tell them when I got home, but he noticed those thoughts, and said: 

“No, all these matters are a secret among us four.  I do not mind your trying to tell them, if you like, but I will protect your tongues, and nothing of the secret will escape from them.”

It was a disappointment, but it couldn’t be helped, and it cost us a sigh or two.  We talked pleasantly along, and he was always reading our thoughts and responding to them, and it seemed to me that this was the most wonderful of all the things he did, but he interrupted my musings and said: 

“No, it would be wonderful for you, but it is not wonderful for me.  I am not limited like you.  I am not subject to human conditions.  I can measure and understand your human weaknesses, for I have studied them; but I have none of them.  My flesh is not real, although it would seem firm to your touch; my clothes are not real; I am a spirit.  Father Peter is coming.”  We looked around, but did not see any one.  “He is not in sight yet, but you will see him presently.”

“Do you know him, Satan?”

“No.”

“Won’t you talk with him when he comes?  He is not ignorant and dull, like us, and he would so like to talk with you.  Will you?”