"It's because they all more than half believe that he got his ideas when dead, and then came to life again, that he gets into harm.

If it wasn't for that tale against him he'd not have been hurt in Quebec, and he'd not be believed by the folks here." "I thought you believed that too." He gave her a peculiar smile.

"If you was to say right out now in public that you knew he wasn't the man they take him for, but only a poor maniac who don't know who he is himself, you'd put an end to the most part of his influence." "What do I know about it ?" she asked scornfully; but, in haste to divert him from an answer, she went on, "I don't see that he does any harm, any way.

You say yourself he's as good as can be." "So he is, poor gentleman; but he's mad, and getting madder.

I don't know exactly what's brewing, but I tell you this, there's going to be trouble of some sort before long." "What sort ?" "Well, for one thing, drunken Job is calling out in the rum-hole that he'll kill his wife if he finds her up to any more religious nonsense; and she is up to something of that sort, and he's quite able to do it, too.