It was a very small place. The men and boys were playing at cricket
on the green; and as the other folks were looking on, they wandered
up and down, uncertain where to seek a humble lodging. There was
but one old man in the little garden before his cottage, and him
they were timid of approaching, for he was the schoolmaster, and
had 'School' written up over his window in black letters on a white
board. He was a pale, simple-looking man, of a spare and meagre
habit, and sat among his flowers and beehives, smoking his pipe, in
the little porch before his door.
'Speak to him, dear,' the old man whispered.
'I am almost afraid to disturb him,' said the child timidly. 'He
does not seem to see us. Perhaps if we wait a little, he may look
this way.'
They waited, but the schoolmaster cast no look towards them, and
still sat, thoughtful and silent, in the little porch. He had a
kind face. In his plain old suit of black, he looked pale and
meagre. They fancied, too, a lonely air about him and his house,
but perhaps that was because the other people formed a merry
company upon the green, and he seemed the only solitary man in all
the place.
Pages:
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345