The Cook County herald. [volume] (Grand Marais, Minn.) 1893-1909, 1896-09-12
TbQ WaDde'rer.

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There was a presage Of storm
Masses Of blue-black clouds hung over
the sunset. The wind walled and died,
and died and walled. In the roadway
rusty leaves leaped suddenly to the air,
eddied and swirled, and strove to unite
with the tree that had cast them shiv-
ering in the dixie. At the fringe of the
cloud there was star. =,
A stile had been fixed at the turning
of the road. It had three bars and
step to cross by. On either side the
hedge grew thickly; and there, also,
two trees, like guardians, gaunt in the
horried light.
To the further side there stretched a
path across the meadow; it led to the
old house that has stood among the
beech trees through generations.
From the stile you could see the tur-
rets above the treetops. The inherltor
Of the name Of Dalrymple, the squire,
lived there. If you followed the road
you would also come to the hall, and
enter by the great gate. But the path
way was nearer by far.
On the side Of the pathway, in the
angle where it joined the stile, there
Law a pond. In this district there
abouts it was looked on as a place OF
ill omen, and back to a time out OIL
mind the children Of the Dalrymples
had passed it at nightfall with speedy
steps and eyes aslant. Yet not to folk
learned in lore, but to the Weirdness OF
the place itself, should you go for the
reason. The trees grew close to the
margin and met overhead, save only
in the center, where the banks were
widest. If a stranger should take a
stone and hurl it to that point, ne
would get in return tone so deep and
resonant as we'll might make him
wonder. Now the trunks Cracked and
whined, and the wind Whistled in the
branches. And the shadows were
black on the pond.
A man was seated on the stile. His
back was to the road, and his eyes
were fixed upon the turret tops above
the trees. He had come upon jour-
ney; you could tell it from his boots.
He was hungry; you could tell it from
his eyes. Such a man, indeed, as one
would pass upon the further side of
the road, and be glad to get rid OF
toward evening What hangs to the
feet one vaguely calls "boots," with
him it was scraps of leather. And how
thin he was! Through the rents in his
garments there peered out angles so
sharp that the coolest, if he saw them,
could scarcely withhold his pity. At
the points they were lacerated by
thorns, but the blood had CONCEALED
and lay matted thickly with the dust
Of travel. His hands were like claws.
Long, sinewy toil-stained, they pro-
truded shamefully from his rags, and.
clutching the rail upon either side, kept
him fixed on his narrow perch.
There is a perjury that chills the
blood. It was the face of that man.
Coarse, tangled, thickly clothed with
dust, his hair hung loose and rank
upon bis shoulders. A scanty growth
of unkept beard, streaked and tinged
with gray, bristled from the lower por-
lions of his face, as weeds grow
sparsely on the arid soil. His cheeks
were so hollow that the bones above
stuck out like knuckles on mans
clenched fist. The color Of his skin
had come, though time and same
ness of treatment, to accord with the
dull, coarse brown of his hair and his
clothes. Ea;s eyes, lusterless, deep
sunk in their sockets, wild, strained at
the margins with with blood, weary,
gazed at the turrets Of the hall. have
seen such a look upon the face of a
starving dog.
The wind walled in the branches,
and the clouds massed in the west, but
the man sat still upon the stile. But
when those who were hurrying from
the storm came by he moved to let
them pass; yet ever he dropped upon
the side that was furthest from the
hall. Such as were women eyed him
in askance, and such as were men with
wonder. But not a soul passed him a
salutation. So the man remained, and
the birds cried out for the storm.
Then two maids returning to the hall
came to the stile, and tossed their
heads, resenting that he should soil
with his clothes the rail which their
skirts must touch.
Yet the stile was his own. Nor the
stile alone, but the grass at his feet,
and the great house at the end Of the
pathway, and the broad acres that
pressed it around. There was warmth
and good cheer at the house. Still the
man moved not. Had the journey been
long and did he linger to rest at the
stile? Or did he wait there for some
one who tarried?
Then there came the prattle of chill
dren's voices in the road. They bab-
bled merrily as their nurse pressed
them on from the storm, And they
passed the man by. Then their voices
ceased, and their feet sped still faster
and many a frightened glance they
cast behind them wonderingly. And
he. saw laborer approach along the
| pathway, returning from his work
! The pipe he smoked glowed warmly
and the man shivered. But at the stile
| he spoke to the laborer, and his voice
| was hoarse, as one that is seldom used
"What children are those?'
| The workman stopped abruptly, anl
looked at the man in SURPRISE doub
not, and maybe, he wondered at thu
! questioner.
'"Them?' he said at last, in a strons
! broad accent. "Them's the squire's