ears. These, with the round steel spectacles which he wore--the
only distinctive feature of his countenance--gave him an indescribably
droll appearance.

"A fox!" I thought.

Then I looked at him more closely.

"No," said I, "an owl, an owl!"

The stranger stepped out into the road and evidently awaited my
approach. My first vivid impression of his face--I remember it afterward
shining with a strange inward illumination--was not favourable. It was a
deep-lined, scarred, worn-looking face, insignificant if not indeed ugly
in its features, and yet, even at the first glance, revealing something
inexplainable--incalculable--

"Good day, friend," I said heartily.

Without replying to my greeting, he asked:

"Is this the road to Kilburn?"--with a faint flavour of foreignness in
his words.

"I think it is," I replied, and I noticed as he lifted his hand to thank
me that one finger was missing and that the hand itself was cruelly
twisted and scarred.

The stranger instantly set off up the Road without giving me much more
attention than he would have given any other signpost. I stood a moment
looking after him--the wings of his overcoat beating about his legs and
the small furry ears on his cap wagging gently.

"There," said I aloud, "is a man who is actually going somewhere."

So many men in this world are going nowhere in particular that when one
comes along--even though he be amusing and insignificant--who is really
(and passionately) going somewhere, what a stir he communicates to a
dull world! We catch sparks of electricity from the very friction of his
passage.

It was so with this odd stranger. Though at one moment I could not help
smiling at him, at the next I was following him.

"It may be," said I to myself, "that this is really the sign man!"

I felt like Captain Kidd under full sail to capture a treasure ship; and
as I approached I was much agitated as to the best method of grappling
and boarding. I finally decided, being a lover of bold methods, to let
go my largest gun first--for moral effect.

"So," said I, as I ran alongside, "you are the man who puts up the
signs."

He stopped and looked at me.

"What signs?"

"Why the sign 'Rest' along this road."

He paused for some seconds with a perplexed expression on his face.

"Then you are not the sign man?" I said.

"No," he replied, "I ain't any sign man."

I was not a little disappointed, but having made my attack, I determined
to see if