Daily Kennebec journal., 1879-01-17

you can furnish the solution that has es-
capped me and every one else who knows
| the facts
| He arose, turned toward the door, trying
it, to see that it was securely locked and
left me to pursue my own way to my work.
No opportunity was given me for many
days-nay, weeks-to continue this conver-
sation. saw the old man daily, but new
er to more than nod to him, for il chanced
that when passed he was in distant part
of the yard, in one of the upper rooms OF
the house, on the roof. or in the barn.
Three or four times saw him lying full
length under one of the trees, and ! went
to him. lie was sound asleep, but would
frequently catch short breaths. as n child
will who has gone to sleep in fit of cry
ing. 1t was evident, at these times. that
nature was doing her best to relieve him
from the effects of a debauch.
Excepting these, there were never any
instances when he was idle about the
premises. u Always trimming AMI m
proving, ana always with tender air, as
though it was done not so much for what
wages might be coming to him as because
| he loved his work and that on which he
was working.
1t was not because of my own imagina-
tion-the old man was certainly growing
weaker. | was sure that could see it
day by day.
Slow as had been its movements when
first saw him, they were still slower now,
undertaken with more difficulty. and his
head was more bowed Besides. he had
assumed and constantly carried a cane.
1t was past the end of summer. The
bright green of the foliage was just begin
ming to deaden little, and the air, at the
going down of the sun, took on the autumn
chilliness.
twas one of my off-evenings. usually
returned home by another and shorter
route, but this time went by the house.
Beautiful.
The old man was sitting upon the porch,
just in front OF the open door. He called
to me to come in. The sun had set, and
the atmosphere was dim and moist, making
the senses seem dull and heavy. lie did
not put out his hand nor look at me as
opened the gate and stepped up the walk.
With his elbows on his knees and his
chin in his hands, he was looking down the
street, not at anything, but as though try
ing to make out something in the distance.
II am glad you came by he said. II
feel unusually lonely and cold this even
ing" And then, abruptly: 81 liked you
when first saw you!'
| saw that he was, indeed, much weaker
than in the early part of the summer and
when heard him speak last; for, as he
uttered the words, he stopped to take
BREATH as one does after violent exercise.
In his figure and face. and especially in
his hands, that were CLASSY and ridgy, it
was plain that within the few weeks he had
aged fast.
IL want to go on with what l began tell
| ing last summer" he said. Il feel like
telling it. 1t relieves me to talk of it, and
You may, perhaps, be able to tell me the
reason of it all. don't know why
should feel so grateful that you chanced to
come this way
There was a melancholy intuition of the
voice that was greatly heightened by his
difficulty in speaking, and an evident yearn-
ing for human companionship. l ex-
pressed great interest to hear what he had
to say, but feared that it might weary him
too much.
No, he was like hard-worked horse
1t might be difficult for him to start, but
once warmed to it, he was all right.
"Let us go in and sit down, where it will
be easier" he said; and we went into the
house.
He opened the two front windows, bade
me draw two of the easiest chairs up, and
we sat looking out upon the fair sloping
lawn and down the wide street Just
little draft, now and then, from some un-
perceivable source lifted the curtains and
added little life.
For all else, there was a sepulchre-like
stiffness. except the voice of the old man.
that, what it lacked in physical force, made
up in earnestness. think that did not
interrupt him once, but listened with my
whole soul.
IL gave my life, my soul. my heart, my
existence to this house," he began. ut
absorbedmy whole being. Inever studied
one moment over it. 1t came to me com
plete from the start, and possessed me
from the first. 1t was like a child-like
one of my own sons-conceived by me,
but by no effort of my will. l drew the
plans almost without thought could
have drawn them blndfolded-part fitted
into part, and Joint into joint, as the bones
of man-all that was left for me to do
was to put them on paper. Colonel Ouse-
ley and his wife were filled with admira-
ton and delight. Go on, he wrote, 'and
draw on me- In the first stages of the
building | was haunted by it day and
night The great frame seemed a giant
animated l dreamed of it constantly,
sometimes as completed, but oftener as
having fallen to the ground, great heap
of RUNS.
lone night, at about midnight, awoke
with a start and cold sweat. 1t seemed
to be real-the crash of the timbers and
stone as they came topping down into the
cellar, ! couldn't bear it | must see for
myself how it was. arose. dressed and
came down here. stopped Just at that
corner below which you see, and stood
transfixed with mingled sense of terror
and astonishment. In the dim, ftful
moonlight the whole place, with its half
finished walls and the skeleton scaffolding,
stood out illuminated from some source
unperceivable, but within it. 1t was like
a mirage in the distance, every brick and
timber standing out with the distinctness
of a Dusseldorf drawing or cameo-cut-
ting-I could fairly see the nails that bound
the strips to the ladders. And that was
not all The workmen were all there,
preternaturally busy. silently but rapidly
carrying up the walls. could see them
Ia i'm tba brsn aal H..