Publisher's Synopsis
An old man, clothed in picturesque patches and tatters, paused and leaned on his stout oakstaff. He was tired. He drew off his rusty felt hat, swept a sleeve across his forehead, andsighed. He had walked many miles that day, and even now the journey's end, near as itreally was, seemed far away. Ah, but he would sleep soundly that night, whether the bedwere of earth or of straw. His peasant garb rather enhanced his fine head. His eyes wereblue and clear and far-seeing, the eyes of a hunter or a woodsman, of a man who watchesthe shadows in the forest at night or the dim, wavering lines on the horizon at daytime;things near or far or roundabout. His brow was high, his nose large and bridged; a face ofmore angles than contours, bristling with gray spikes, like one who has gone unshavenseveral days. His hands, folded over the round, polished knuckle of his staff, were tannedand soiled, but they were long and slender, and the callouses were pink, a certain indicationthat they were fresh.
