Essex County herald. [volume] (Guildhall, Vt.) 1873-1964, 1885-02-20

house sold to Dantrup, the drayman of
Messagliere street. If you don't come,
my grand daughter will be without a
father, my daught,r without husband,
and myself without sonw
1t was heart,rendiug aud horrible to
hear the old hag's voice, and to think
that the wind froze the blood in her
veins and drenched the very bones under
her skin.
"a fit, say you9 The fee is two hun
dred fretzers," rejoined the heartless
leech.
We have butlone hundred and twenty.
"Good night, them" And once more
the windows were closed.
On second thoughts, however, he came
to the conclusion that, for an hours trot
and half an hours attendance, one hun
dred and twenty fretzers made sixty
fretzers an hour-one fretzer minutel
1t was small profit at best, but not quite
to be despised.
So, instead of getting into bed, the
doctor slipped himself, into his velvet
suit, hurried down stairs in pair of
thick water proof boots, muffied himself
up in large overcoat, put on his gloves
and sou'wester, and, leaving the lamp
lighted on the table near his Codex
opened at page 1877, pushed open the
door of the Six-Four, and appeared on
the threshold.
The old crone was there, leaning on
stick, her frame emaciated by eighty
years of misery.
''The money" said he.
"lIere; and may God return it hun
dred fold!"
"God3 the money of God2 Has any
one seen its color?"
The doctor whistled Hurzof, put a
small lantern in the dogs mouth, and
bent his steps toward the sea, The old
hag trudged on behind.
y
Good heavens, what weather! The
bells of Saint Philfilene sway to and fro
under the headlong fury of the storm, an
omincus portent, as we know. But DR..
Trifulgas eschews all super3titious no.
tions. The fact is, he believes in moth
ing at all, not even his own science-ex-
cept for what it brings him in. What
weather, to be sure, and what road |!
Nothing but shingle and slag-the shin
gle slippery like seaweed, and the Stag
crisp as clinker. And no other light to
see by than tremulous flicker from
Hurzof's lantern. At times strange, fan
tastic figures seem to toss in the flames
that swell from the mouth of the Van
glor. There is really no telling what
lies at the bottom of those inscrutable
craters. Perhaps the souls of the under
world, that volatilize on reaching our at
mosDhere.
The doctor and the old hag follow the
line of coast that runs in and out of the
small bays along the shore. The sea is
of livid whiteness and sparkles as its
pillows hurtle the phosphorescent fringe
of surf that seems to pour wave on wave
of glow worms upon the beach.
Thus both rush on till they reach a
bend in the road between two swelling
downs, where broom and sea rushes clash
their blades together like so many bayo
nets.
The dog has drawn nearer to his mas
ter, and seems to say:
"Well, what think you? A hundred
and twenty fretzers to place under lock
and key in the safe That's the way to
build up fortune 'Tis another piece
of ground added to the vine enclosure
Another dish added to the evening meal !
Another bowl of food for faithful Hur-
zof! Nothing like attending rich pa
tients and loosening their purse strings "
At this point the old woman stopped
She directed finger, which shook like
age, toward a red light some way off in
the gloom-the house of Wort Kartif,
the cracknel-maker.
"There2" laconically put in the doctor.
"Yes, responded the crone.
Just then the Vanglor, vibrating to its
foundations with a noise like thunder,
threw up a mass of fuliginous flame,
that mounted to the zenith and rent the
clouds Doctor Trifulgas was thrown
to the ground by the force Of the con-
cussion. Regaining his footing, he
looked around. The beldam was gone.
She must have fallen through some deep
crevasse in the ground, or taken flight
on the floating fog-clouds of ocean.
The dog, however, was still there, up
right on his launches, his mouth wide
open, and the light of the lantern blown
out.
"Never mind; let's go on" mumbled
Doctor Trifulgas. The honest man had
pocketed the one hundred and twenty
fretzers, and must needs earn them.
X 4 y Il
A solitary light is alone visible in the
distance half kertse away. 1t is, doubt
less, the lamp of the dying, or, perchance,
dead man, and yonder must be the
cracknel-maker's house. There can be
no mistake, the old hag pointed it out.
And so saying, with the noise of the
storm in his ears, DR.. Trifulgas hurried
on toward the hou e, which, standing
alone IN the midst of a wide heath, is
more distinctly peroeptible as the way
farer approaches.
1t is a singular and noteworthy fact
to observe how much the house of the
cracknel-maker looks like the doctors
Six Four at Luktrop; there is the same
arrangement in the front windows, and
the little vaulted door at the side. Doc.
tor Trifulgas strides on as fast as the
driving gusts of wind and rain will per-
nit. He reaches the door, which is aiar,
pushes it open, enters and the blast
closes it behind him with bang. The
dog outside howls, or is silent, by turns.
How very strange! One might almost
be led to suppose that DIR. Trifulgas had
come back to his own house. But this
cannot be. He took no wrong turning
on the road, nor did he lose his way.
No, he is certainly at Val-Karniou, and
not at Luktrop. Yet how comes it his
eye dwells on the same low, vaulted
corridor, the same winding staircase and
the same massive wooden railing, hand
worn like his own2 He ascen s
and stops on the landing. A