The Morris County chronicle. [volume] (Morristown, N.J.) 1877-1915, 1907-03-19
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uumdH, udu DllAuSu lOlSNC AIS AoIAO
less architect. But, what should an
old hat-seller know of these things?
Thou wilt sell no caps here" said
the obtuse police spy at his elbow.
MOI" answered the old man quiet
| ly, without looking round.
mo; go on, one way or the other"
"Then in Moscow one may not
even look at church," said the old
man, turning to go.
mo. / turned away an English
man from here yesterday; and if an
Englishman-for they see every
thing-may not look, surely thou
mayest not
Same fellow, my man. Same fell
low, you thick headl" muttered the
old man in perfect English, as he
hobbled toward the Holy Gate. In
passing through he reverently
Jared his head, looking sideways up
with senile awe toward the sacred
picture.
He quickened his shambling pace,
but stopped suddenly in one of the
narrower streets of New Moscow. A
blue letter-box was fixed to the wall,
and upon this he laid his stock of
fur caps, separating them and shak-
ing out the little black curls Of hair
with practiced hand. He arranged
and sorted his diminutive stock in
trade for some time, till the street
was clear of passers-by. Then he
slipped one hand into the breast of
his long coat and produced letter.
After glancing at the address, he
dropped it into the box, and muir
INJURED in English:
There goes the last link. I am
off at last, and week ago to-day 7
was putting up scenery at Broom
haugh!"
When the Post Office collector
came shortly afterward with his bag
to clear the box. the old hat-seller
was still examining his wares, one of
which he pressed upon the letter car
rier with little clumsy pleasantly
about the cap coming in useful when
he received his pension.
The old fellow spoke the cultural,
coarse Russian of the south.
Beneath his shaggy brows he
watched his letter fall from the box
into the canvas bag, and then turned
away toward the high road leading
to Mini Novgorod
Thus VINEYARD Mistley turned his
back on civilization, and started on
his lone and wearisome journey of
three thousand miles. The hurried
Devastating at the porch had been
indeed farewell, despite his CHEEKY
assurance to the contrary. Twenty
four hours after leaving Broomhaagh
he was on board little merchant
steamer gliding slowly down the
Humber. An interview at White
hall, a second at the War once, and
he had received his instructions. No
outfit, no letters of introduction, no
baggage. WAS there anything to
delay his starting immediately" he
had been asked. mo, nothing!"
The answer was not very prompt;
there was the shadow of hesitation
in it; and for moment the white
haired, anxious soldier who had asked
the question relaxed the GOODNESS of
his official demeanor.
''It is sometimes better" the old,
worn-out traveller said, ito find that
there is no time to say goodbye
do you not find it so?"
Eyes, perhaps it is better So Win
yard had replied, with sudden
smile, and all was said and done.
Ard now that was all over-a
merc memory of the past. The hur-
ried preparations, the difficult letter
to Mrs. Mistley, written at club
amid the laughter and merry-making
of men who would have been silent
enough had they known. The I'M
comfortable farewell at Kings Cross
Station, and the last grave pressure
of the hand from the two old travel
ers, who, partial strangers as they
were, had made point of seeing him
off,
Now he was fairly at work, and
his old confident delight in the at
tendant difficulties was returning to
him.