Tenants. 65 



man, who had all the garrulity of age, and would talk to 

 me by the hour of the beasts that tenanted the mansion 

 and of that parade of interesting items that nature, like a 

 well-conducted newspaper, spreads before us day by day. 

 Then, again, he would tell of his misfortunes, how he had 

 been running up and down the roads, this way and that, 

 searching for an escaped horse, and, finally growing tired, 

 he had to be brought home in a wagon, for he was an old 

 man now. 



Often I stood at a distance and watched him chop 

 wood under the shed near his dwelling, or follow, with 

 bowed head, the narrow path that led from his door to the 

 barn. The path wound up the hill under the trees and 

 back of the mansion, and nearby a dog was chained to 

 his house, and would gyrate and yelp most piteously when 

 he saw the old man passing by. 



One Summer two calves were confined for a time in 

 the corner of the orchard fence, near the path, and their 

 little anxious heads were thrust through the paling at 

 whomsoever passed that way. The old man said " they 

 would be three days old to-morrow," so anxious was he to 

 have them grow as fast as possible, to have a few more 

 hairs on their diminutive bodies. One of them endeavored 

 to swallow my hand in my efforts to discover the condi- 

 tion of its teeth, but that member, much to the disappoint- 

 ment of the calf, came away with me. 



Near the path stood a broad-spreading hemlock, also 

 several maples and some other trees, and beneath their 

 shade several seats had been constructed. It was here 

 that the old man most often sat and talked, and on Summer 



