The Portland daily press., 1895-12-28
SNEE'IHEARIS.
By A. CONAN DOYLE.
copyright. 1895, by the Author !

ing and evening and sees them in their
homes between to steal time for one lit
tie daily breath of cleanly air. To win
it he must slip early from his bed and
walk ont between shuttered shops, When
ii is chill, but clear, and all things are
sharply outlined, as in frost. 1t is an
hour that has charm of its own, when
but for a postman or a milkman, one
has the pavement to oneself, and even
the most common thing takes an ever
recurring freshness, as though causeway
and lamp and signboard had all waken-
ed to the new day. Then even an in
land city may seem beautiful and bear
virtue in its smoke tainted air.
But it was by the sea that I lived in
a town that was unlovely enough were
it not for its glorious neighbor. And
who cares for the town when one can
sit on the bench at the .head1and and
look out over the huge blue bay and the
yellow scimeter that curves before it I
loved it when its great face was freckled
with the fishing boats. and I loved it
when the big ships went past, far out,
little hillock of white and no hull, with
topsail curved like bodice, SO stately
and demure. But most of all loved it
when no trace of man marred the maj
esty of nature and when the sunbursts
slanted down on it from between the
drifting rainclouds. Then have seen
the farther edge draped in the gauze Of
the driving rain, with its thin gray
shading under the clouds, while my
headland was golden, and the sun
cleaned upon the breakers and struck
deep through the green waves be-
yond, showing up the purple patches
where the beds of seaweed are lying.
Such a morning as that, with the wind
in his hair and the spray on his lips and
the cry of the eddying gulls in his ear,
may send man back braced afresh to
the reek of a sickroom and the dead
drab WEAKNESS of practice.
It was on such another day that first
saw my old man. He came to my bench
just as was leaving it. My eye must
have picked him out even in crowded
street, for he was man Of large frame
and fine presence, with something Of
distinction in the set Of his lip and the
poise of his head. He imped up the
winding path, leaning heavily on his
stick, as though those great shoulders
had become too much at last for the
failing limbs that bore them. AS he ap-
preached my eyes caught nature danger
signal-that faint blush tinge in nose
and lip which tells Of laboring heart.
''The brae is a little trying, sir, said
I. Speaking as a physician, should
say that you would do well to rest here
before you go farther. -
He inclined his head in stately old
world fashion and seated himself upon
the bench. Seeing that he had no wish
to speak, I was silent also, but I could
not help watching him out of the corner
of my eyes, for he was such wonder
full survival Of the early half Of the CEN
tury, with his low crowned, curly
brimmed hat, his black satin tie, which
fastened with buckle at the back, and,
above all, his large, feshy, clean shaven
face, shot with its mesh of wrinkles.
Those eyes, ere they had grown dim,
had looked out from the box seat of mail
coaches and had seen the knots of nav
vies as they to1led on the brown en-
bankments Those lips had smiled over
the first number of "Pickwick'' and had
gossiped of the promising young man
who wrote them. The face itself was
70 year almanac and every seam an
entry upon it, where public as well as
private sorrow left its trace.
That pucker on the forehead stood for
the mutiny perhaps; that line of care
for the Crilhean winter, it may be, and
that last little sheaf of wrinkles, as my
fancy hoped, for the death of Gordon.
And SO, as dreamed in my foolish way,
the old gentleman with the shining
stock was gone, and it was 70 years Of
great nations life that took shape be-
fore me on the headland in the morning.
But he soon brought me back to earth
again. As he recovered his breath he
took letter out of his pocket, and put
ting on a pair of horn trimmed eye
glasses he read it through very careful
ly. Without any design of playing the
spy, could not help observing that it
was in woman's hand. When he had
finished it, he read it again, and then
sat with the corners of his mouth drawn
down and his eyes staring vacantly out
over the bay, the most forlorn looking
old gentleman that ever have seen. All
that was kindly within me was set STIR
ring by that wistful face, but I knew
that he was in no humor for talk, and
SO at last, with my breakfast and my
patients calling me, left him on the
bench and started for home
I never gave him another thought un-
til the next morning, when, at the same
hour, he turned up upon the headland
and shared the bench which had been
accustomed to look upon as my own. He
bowed again before sitting down, but
was no more inclined than before to en-
ter into conversation. There had been a
change in him during the last "a hours
and all for the worse. The face seemed
more heavy and more wrinkled, while
that ominous venous tinge was more
pronounced as he painted up the hill