The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1888-04-27
There was little xhitewashed c,

thBe On tIe eoke " thf ulOOrianu JUST
after the hedgerows eeased--the last
house before the barren heath began,
standing a full 800 yards from any
other dwelling. Its front faced the |
road, and at the back an clubhouse and
a wretched garden jutted out on the
wasteland. There was light in each
of its windows tonight, and, as / pass
ed down the road, heard the dismal
music of a flute. l1 9Efst.t
Perhaps it was this that logged my
thoughts ard woke them up to my
present pass At any rate l had not
gone more than-twenty yards before l
turned ami made for the door. The
people might give me nights lodg-
ing in the outhouse At any rate they
would not refuse. o crust 10 stay th,.
fast which | had not broken since the
morning. l tapped gently on the
door and listened. .-.
waited five minutes and no one
answered. The flute still continued it's
melancholy tune, it was evidently it,
the hands of q learner, for the air "a
dispiriting one enough at the best)
kept breaking off snddenly and repeat
ing itself. But the performer had
patience and the sound never ceased
for more than two seconds at time.
Besides this was nothing to be heard
The blinds were drawn in all the win
o~s. The glow of the candles througt
them was cpeerful enough, but nothiog
was to be seen of the house inside.
knocked second time and a third,
vi h the same result. Finally, tired
pushed open the low gate which Ie,
lnto the garden behind, and stole round
TO the back of the cottage.
Here, too, the window on the ground
floor was lit up behind its blinds, bu,
that of the room above was shuttered
There was hole in the shutter,
however, where knot of the wood
mad fallen out and thin shaft of ligb,
stretched across the blackness and
buried itself in ragged yew tree at
the end of the garden. From the loud
ness If the sounds | judged this to b..
the room where the flute playing wa
going on. The sound of my footsteps
N the thin soil did not disturb tn,
performer, so gathered handful OF
earth and pitched it against the pane.
The flute stopped for minute or 80,
but just as l was expecting to see the
shutter open, went on again; this. time
he air was "Pretty Polly Oliver
| Icrept back again and began to ham
mer more loudly at the door. ''Come,"
said l, "whoever this may be inside,
| Ill see for myself at any rate" and
with that lifted the latch and gave
the door heavy kick. 1t flew open
quite easily lit had not been locked,
aud found myself in low kitchen.
The room was empty, but the relics OF
supper lay on the deal table, and the re
mains of what must have been a noble
fire were still smoldering on the hearth
stone. A crazy, rusty blunderbuss hung
over the fireplace. This with couple of
chairs, a broken bacon rack and a
small side table, completed the furni.
ture of the place. MOTOR as l sal
down to make meal off the remnants
of supper something lying on the line
ash floor beneath this side table caught
| my eye; stepped forward and picked
it up. - s,,r . .---., L., .,...- b.
| 1t was barrister's wig.
| "This is queer business" thought
| !; and l laid it the table opposite me
as ] went on with my supper. 1t was
a "gossan' wig, as we call it in our
parts, wig grown yellow and rusty
with age and wear. 1t looked so sly
and wicked as it lay there, and
brought back the event of the day so
sharply that a queer dread took me of
being discovered with it. pulled on,
my pistol, loaded it (they had given m
back both the powder and pistol fou d
on me when ! was taken), and laid l.
beside my plate. This done, l wen,
IN with my supper--it was an excel
lent cold cspon-and all the time tn
flute upstairs kept toot TOOTH G withou
IStopping to change the tunr.' 1t gav.
me ''Hrarts of Oak "Why, Soldi, re,
Why Like Hermit Poor and l"Com.
Lassies and lads" before l had fairly
cleared the dish.
"And now," thought l, 81 have had
good supper; but there are still thre,
things to be done. In the first place ]
want drink, in the second want a
bed, and in the third l want to thank
this kind person, whoever he is, for hi
hospitality. I'm not going to begin
life No. with housebreaking."
| rose, slipped the pistol into my tail
pocket, and followed the sound up tn.
rsmshackle stairs. My footsteps madr
such racket on these old timbers rs
fairly to frighten me, but they never
disturbed the flute player. He had
harked back again to Like Hermit
Poor by this tin 6, and the dolefulness
of it was fit to make the dead cry out,
but he went whining on until l reached
the head of the stairs and struck a
rousing knock on the door.
The playing stopped. Come ill.,"
said CHEEKY voice; but it gave me no
cheerfulness. Instead of that it sent
all the comfort of my supper clean out
me as opened the door and saw HIM
sitting there e '.f....
There he was, the man who had say
ed my neck that day and whom most
| hated ip the world, sitting before a
snug fire with his flute on his knee, a
glass of port wine at his elbow and
looking so comfortable with that know
ing light in his gray eye that / could
have killed him where he sat.
"Oh, it's you, is i,3" he said. just the
very least bit surprised, and no more.
"Come in,'
l stood in the doorway hesitsting
'Don't stay letting in that monstrou-
araught, man; but sit down. You'll
find the bottle on the table aud glass
on q SHELF
| l poured out glassful and drank il
off. The stuff was rare Il can remem
her It's trick on the tongue to this day.
but somehow it did not drive the cold
out of my heart. l took another glass
and sat slipping it and staring from tht
fire TO my companion.
i He had taken up, the flute again
| and waa hlnuino a Ca, daan nntaa On,