Dust cover'd the
clothes of the wayfarer, and his brow was moist with sweat. He trod in
a lagging, weary way; though his form and features told of an age not
more than nineteen or twenty years. Over one shoulder was slung a
sailor's jacket, and in his hand he carried a little bundle. Sitting
down on a rude bench, he told a female who made her appearance behind
the bar, that he would have a glass of brandy and sugar. He took off
the liquor at a draught: after which he lit and began to smoke a
cigar, with which he supplied himself from his pocket--stretching out
one leg, and leaning his elbow down on the bench, in the attitude of a
man who takes an indolent lounge.
"Do you know one Richard Hall that lives somewhere here among you?"
said he.
"Mr. Hall's is down the lane that turns off by that big locust tree,"
answer'd the woman, pointing to the direction through the open door;
"it's about half a mile from here to his house."
The youth, for a minute or two, puff'd the smoke from his mouth
very leisurely in silence. His manner had an air of vacant
self-sufficiency, rather strange in one of so few years.
"I wish to see Mr. Hall," he said at length--"Here's a silver
six-pence, for any one who will carry a message to him."
"The folks are all away. It's but a short walk, and your limbs are
young," replied the female, who was not altogether pleased with the
easy way of making himself at home which mark'd her shabby-looking
customer. That individual, however, seem'd to give small attention
to the hint, but lean'd and puff'd his cigar-smoke as leisurely as
before.
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