One evening lately, being in this plight, I spread out before me certain odds and ends.  I had dug deeper than usual in the drawer and had brought up a yellow stratum of a considerable age.  I was poring upon these papers and was wondering whether I could fit them to a newer measure, when I heard a slight noise behind me.  I glanced around and saw that a man had entered the room and was now seated in a chair before the fire.  In the common nature of things this should have been startling, for the hour was late—­twelve o’clock had struck across the way—­and I had thought that I was quite alone.  But there was something so friendly and easy in his attitude—­he was a young man, little more than a lanky boy—­that instead of being frightened, I swung calmly around for a better look.  He sat with his legs stretched before him and with his chin resting in his hand, as though in thought.  By the light that fell on him from the fire, I saw that he wore a brown checked suit and that he was clean and respectable in appearance.  His face was in shadow.

“Good evening,” I said, “you startled me.”

“I am sorry,” he replied.  “I beg your pardon.  I was going by and I saw your light.  I wished to make your acquaintance.  But I saw at once that I was intruding, so I sat here.  You were quite absorbed.  Would you mind if I mended the fire?”

Without waiting for an answer, he took the poker and dealt the logs several blows.  It didn’t greatly help the flame, but he poked with such enjoyment that I smiled.  I have myself rather a liking for stirring a fire.  He set another log in place.  Then he drew from his pocket a handful of dried orange peel.  “I love to see it burn,” he said.  “It crackles and spits.”  He ranged the peel upon the log where the flame would get it, and then settled himself in the big chair.

“Perhaps you smoke?” I asked, pushing toward him a box of cigarettes.

He smiled.  “I thought that you would know my habits.  I don’t smoke.”

“So you were going by and came up to see me?” I asked.

“Yes.  I was not sure that I would know you.  You are a little older than I thought, a little—­stouter, but dear me, how you have lost your hair!  But you have quite forgotten me.”

“My dear boy,” I said, “you have the advantage of me.  Where have I seen you?  There is something familiar about you and I am sure that I have seen that brown suit before.”

“We have never really known each other,” the boy replied.  “We met once, but only for an instant.  But I have thought of you since that meeting a great many times.  I lay this afternoon on a hilltop and wondered what you would be like.  But I hoped that sometimes you would think of me.  Perhaps you have forgotten that I used to collect railway maps and time-tables.”

“Did you?” I replied.  “So did I when I was a little younger than you are.  Perhaps if I might see your face, I would know you.”

“It’s nothing for show,” he replied, and he kept it still in shadow.  “Would you mind,” he said at length, “if I ate an apple?” He took one from his pocket and broke it in his hands.  “You eat half,” he said.