Bressant wondered whether it would dawn for any of them so
strangely as for him! As he hurried along the empty street, a sign over
one of the doors, barely discernible in the darkness, attracted his
attention. He paused close to it, and made out the words, "West India
goods and groceries;" and at once his fancy reveled in the savory
eatables stored beyond his reach. What cheese and butter, what hams,
biscuits, and apples; what salted codfish and strings of sausages, were
there! Had the store been open, he would have been tempted to rush in,
knock the salesman senseless, and make off with whatever he could carry.
Strange thoughts these for a man bound on an errand of life and death!
But hunger is no respecter of occasions, however inopportune, or of
emotions, however incongruous. Bressant passed on. He was now
twenty-five miles on his way, and as he came beneath the meeting-house
clock, it struck twelve: the new year had come! To Bressant it brought
only the knowledge that he was seven miles ahead of his time; and this
served in some measure to counteract the depression caused by his
hunger. But on--on! There were still fifty miles to go!
The village vanished, like the old year, behind him. He was now crossing
a lofty plateau, over which swept the wind, strong and chilly.
Pages:
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422