Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1860-03-07
THREEKNoCKsA AT aUILcHER,s DOOR

man, scarcely yet in his prime of life-a giant
II he were fed-a giant who might dig, forge,
Or mine, or saw or plane at a ships ribs, but
made what he is by visible starvation His
hands are bare. his single-breasted clerical
looking black coat is so old and thin as to be
no shield against the bitter blast which blows;
yet he plods onward with a ready step, and
winding his way from a great breadth of leaf
iess ,reeS 10 this bleak upland in solitary part
Vi WINDSOR Forest, finds what he evidently
seeKs-a very ancient holly tree. It's situa-
uon Is peculiar, for it stands alone on the edge
oi great clump of brushwood Its size is
enormous; lt must have been swept by the
"inoS ahd seen the SHOWS Of countless winters,
as well as given garnish to the festivals of
many generations; yet its leaves are still
Sreen-lts eoronals of berries transcendant in
their ruddy beauty. Of these, after much se-
iecuon and climbing, the poor, cold, red
nsnded giant plucks ono Of the most bsauti-
ful-strlps 1t of all accessories except a few
surrounding leaves, and then, opening the
breast OF his coat, hides it Within where frost
cannot touch it. Or wind wither Then, after
a moments pause Ito note, as it were, the
bearings of this wild and solitary sceneO he
retraced his steps more swiftly than he came.
Through some miles of forests land-along SOL
itary country roads-by villages and farms he
goes; never resting, never pausing, though he
looks more ana more cold, hungry, weary and
~
little beyond Windsor, and train coming up.
he speeds on his way to London-a third class
passenger with return-t ticket He is cold
and weary enough when he alights at Pad
dington: vet, for some reason, he fingers on the
platform and looks up to the clock.
'.NOt quite seven yet, he mutters to him
self, land Quilcher more than hinted-she es-
pecisliy-then / mustn't be home before ten,
and then 60 straight to my room-or garret, as
they should have called it. But for once am
dead to their threats. I'll go home at eight,
and give Emmy what I have been so far to
seek, and the little work-box I bought last
night and if they turn me out tomorrow they
may. can but tramp back to the North,
and take some rough work for a time; the
measure. But Emmy-poOr ill-used one-can
/ leave you? 30
Presently, quitting the platform, he enters
waiting room, where, warming his hands at
glowing fire, he looks round. He then per-
ceives that he has been followed by decent
looking man, who, arriving by the same train
as himself, has the look of stranger to Lon
don He wears good, but homely dress; he
has an English face, but it is bronzed by for
eign suns; his ungloved hands show many a
years rough work, and they are the more
conspicuous, as in the one he carries a new
wo-handled basket Of considerable size, and
IN the other small paper trunk, carefully
corded. The expression of his face is frank
but keen; whilst r look of mingled anxiety
and fear may be observed
- How far, he says curtly to the poor,
weary fellow whe stands warming his be.
numbed hands, lis it to - street, Knights
bridge ?''
" I'm going there, myself" answered Cold
hands, with visible glance of surprise; "I'N
show you"
No, thank you; though I'm stranger L
need need no guide. How far is it, and which
is the way2'
.Gs T0ds answers euEHy but civlly then
take q cab; and the next time man whom you
have been the first to address offers you
kindness, don't take him for thief or a knave.
/ N neither the one nor the other"
Beg pardon, stranger replies the honest
faced man; " but I've lived away from Eng
land Il sort of years, and in that time have met
with strange company. So, forgive a mis-
take :" Thus saying and adding thereto a
civil good night he goes his way quietly,
considering the weighty basket and papered
box.
Probably Judging that the advice he has
listened to is sound, the stranger, after a good
deal of bargaining as to price, takes a cab, and
Is driven on his way; when it is two-thirds ac-
cOmplished, he puts his head out of the win
dow and shouts to cabby-
Let me down in the nearest street, but not
in the very one I've named"
"Werry we'll" says cabby, sulkiiy, for he
hates cheap fare: and adds as he drives ON,
+" You re very suspicious gent, that yer are.
Setting yer down in the wrong street. and
carrying a box and basket at this time o. a
Christmas Mi ght ain all right, take it, So
III set yer down and speak to Peeler and
he shall have his eye and lantern on yer.
1 always looks strsightfOrrards when folks pays
me i'll
Arrived in Sloane street-which is near that
Enthusiastically sets his fare down, and when
be has departed with box and basket, bespeaks
his suspicious to y, 20i, upon which that func-
tionary rapidly but cautiously follows.
Going down one side of the little mean street
which he has come far to seek, then up the
other, inspecting such names and signs as he
can see, and evidently failing in his object the
stranger looks around him for a place of in,
quiry. Avoiding the shining taverns and the
one fruit shop, he halts before barber's door.
The shutters of the shop-wiudow are only par
TALLY closed, the pole is bright with paint, the
step Is clean, the place has u wholesome look
about 1t, and the name above the door il ''Abel
Rasper." SO the stranger enters Mr.. Rasper's
shsp. 1t Is empty of customers; and the bar
ber's gowns. as the draught from the opened
door moves them, float to and fro on their re-
spective nails like headless ghosts; but the
smell OF soap and barber's oil is dow cred
oy that OF festal dishes, and q long, many -paned
window, which is snowily curtained, and looks
from an adjacent parlor into the shop, shines
like the divine eye Of Charity herself Thus
entered, the stranger knocks. Presently q
brisk crisp little old man peeps round the door
of the circumjacent parlor.
1t q holiday time, sir; my young man ain {
IN, slr; the two apprentices, sir, has got holi-
day; and me and Mrs. Rasper is making COM
Portable with friend or two; so, if you can put
on shaving, sir, till morning, sir,why, SIR
Thank you, says the stranger with smile,
Il dom want shaving, only to ask you if any
one OF the name Of Quicher lives in this street?'
y IS, sir; about ten doors down, sir''
And he's inen-draper?'' .. :
"fes, sir; In poor little way, sir; don't do
VERY little haristocratic business sir though
deal as done in this street. Why, sir, through
the season I've five wallets to shave every
morning; for you see, strand take 1t to be
freak IN natur-though my gentleman likes to
shave my lord, he doesn't do il for himself"
But ne who is listening is deaf to much of
this.
Can you tell me-" he says again. with nm
disguised emotion, IF a young girl named
Emma lives there" --'
But the good little crisp, brisk man, makes
no immediate answer, but stepping backwards
TO the parlor door, says in voice of sunny
pleasure
" My dear Sarry (his pronunciation of Sarah. !,