tion of the sky. So I stood on the
edge of the woods my hand holding the girl's, and watched him, and as
the seconds passed and he did not change his form, but remained a lazy
man leaning on a hoe in a patch of riotous weeds, fear left me and
wonder took its place.

There was nothing about this man to merit the opprobrium of his name,
and from appearances Stacy Shunk had as well warned me against being
caught by Mr. Pound. In the village Mr. Pound was the mould of
respectability. He always wore a short frock-coat of glossy black
material, which strained itself to reach across his chest. So did the
Professor. But his black had turned to green in spots, and he was so
thin and the tails were so short and the coat so broad that it seemed
as though its length and breadth had become transposed. It was a
marvellously shabby coat, but even in its poverty there was no
mistaking its blue blood. It was a decayed sartorial aristocrat, ill
nourished and sad, but flaunting still the chiselled nose and high,
white brow of noble lineage. Here it was all out of place. Mr. Pound
wore a great derby which swelled up from his head like a black ominous
cloud, and so dominated him that it seemed to be in him the centre of
thought and action, and likely at any moment to catch a slant on the
wind and carry him from earth. The Professor wore a great derby, too,
but one without the buoyant, cloud-like character of Mr. Pound's. It
was a burden to him. Only his ears kept it from dragging him to earth
and smothering him, and now as he looked up at the sky I saw clear cut
against its blackness a thin quixotic visage, shaded by a growth of
stubble beard. I marvelled at a man working in such attire, for the
sun baked the clearing, but watching, I saw how little he swung his hoe
and how much he studied the sky. The whole place spoke of one who kept
his coat on while he worked, and gazed at the clouds more than he hoed.
It was wretched and dismal. It hid itself away in the woods from very
shame of its thriftlessness. Age had twisted the house askew, so that
the mud daubing crumbled from between the logs, and the chimney was
ready to tumble through the roof with the next puff of wind. The
shanty barn was aslant and leaned heavily for support on long props.
The hay burst through every side of it, and the sole occupant, an
ancient white mule, had burst through too, and with his head projecting
from an opening and his ears tilted forward, he