He was rubbing away the mold from the
name which, by his own confession, was the only one to which his
memory clung in sympathy or endearment. At his feet lay an open
basket, in which I detected the remains of what must have been a
rather sumptuous cold repast. To all appearance he had foregone
none of his ancient customs; only those customs had taken on elegance
with his rise in fortune. The carriage and the horses, and most of
all, the imperturbable driver, seemed to awaken some awe in the boys.
They were still in evidence, but they hung back sheepishly and eyed
the basket of neglected food as if they hoped he would forget to take
it away. Meanwhile the clattering of chains against the harness, the
pawing of the horses and the low exclamations of the driver caused me
the queerest feelings. Advancing quite unceremoniously upon the
watcher by the grave, I remarked aloud;
"The setting sun will soon release you, Mr. Moore. Are you going
immediately into town?"
He paused in his rubbing, which was being done with a very tender
hand, and as if he really loved the name he was endeavoring to bring
into plainer view. Scowling a little, he turned and met me
point-blank with a look which had a good deal of inquiry in it.
"I am not usually interrupted here," he emphasized; "except by the
boys," he added more mildly.
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