acquaintance; "you must have had a hot and tiresome walk from the
city. Sit down, and take a morsel of our bread and cheese."

The visitor made a grateful little murmur of acquiescence, and sat down
in a spot somewhat removed; so that, glancing round, I could see his
gray pantaloons and dusty shoes, while his upper part was mostly hidden
behind the shrubbery. Nor did he come forth from this retirement
during the whole of the interview that followed. We handed him such
food as we had, together with a brown jug of molasses and water (would
that it had been brandy, or some thing better, for the sake of his
chill old heart!), like priests offering dainty sacrifice to an
enshrined and invisible idol. I have no idea that he really lacked
sustenance; but it was quite touching, nevertheless, to hear him
nibbling away at our crusts.

"Mr. Moodie," said I, "do you remember selling me one of those very
pretty little silk purses, of which you seem to have a monopoly in the
market? I keep it to this day, I can assure you."

"Ah, thank you," said our guest. "Yes, Mr. Coverdale, I used to sell a
good many of those little purses."

He spoke languidly, and only those few words, like a watch with an
inelastic spring, that just ticks a moment or two and stops again. He
seemed a very forlorn old man. In the wantonness of youth, strength,
and comfortable condition,--making my prey of people's individualities,
as my custom was,--I tried to identify my mind with the old fellow's,
and take his view of the world, as if looking through a smoke-blackened
glass at the sun. It robbed the landscape of all its life. Those
pleasantly swelling slopes of our farm, descending towards the wide
meadows, through which sluggishly circled the brimful tide of the
Charles, bathing the long sedges on its hither and farther shores; the
broad, sunny gleam over the winding water; that peculiar
picturesqueness of the scene where capes and headlands put themselves
boldly forth upon the perfect level of the meadow, as into a green
lake, with inlets between the promontories; the shadowy woodland, with
twinkling showers of light falling into its depths; the sultry
heat-vapor, which rose everywhere like incense, and in which my soul
delighted, as indicating so rich a fervor in the passionate day, and in
the earth that was burning with its love,--I beheld all these things as
through old Moodie's eyes. When my eyes are dimmer than they have yet
come to be, I