“On the 24th of April he sold his horse—said ‘I’m just fifty-seven to-day, hale and hearty—it would be a pretty howdy-do for me to be wasting such a trip as that, and such weather as this, on a horse, when there ain’t anything in the world so splendid as a tramp on foot through the fresh spring woods and over the cheery mountains, to a man that is a man; and I can make my dog carry my claim in a little bundle anyway, when it’s collected. So to-morrow I’ll be up bright and early, make my little old collection, and mosey off to Tennessee, on my own hind legs, with a rousing good-bye to Gadsby’s.’

“On the 22nd of June he sold his dog, said, ‘Dern a dog, anyway, where you’re just starting off on a rattling bully pleasure-tramp through the summer woods and hills—perfect nuisance—chases the squirrels, barks at everything, goes a-capering and splattering around in the fords—man can’t get any chance to reflect and enjoy nature—and I’d a blamed sight rather carry the claim myself, it’s a mighty sight safer; a dog’s mighty uncertain in a financial way— always noticed it—well, good-bye, boys—last call—I’m off for Tennessee with a good leg and a gay heart, early in the morning.’ ”

There was a pause and a silence—except the noise of the wind and the pelting snow. Mr. Lykins said impatiently: “Well?”

Riley said: “Well, that was thirty years ago.”

“Very well, very well: what of it?”

“I’m great friends with that old patriarch. He comes every evening to tell me good-bye. I saw him an hour ago: he’s off for Tennessee early to-morrow morning—as usual; said he calculated to get his claim through and be off before night-owls like me have turned out of bed. The tears were in his eyes, he was so glad he was going to see his old Tennessee and his friends once more.”

Another silent pause. The stranger broke it: “It that all?”

“That is all.”

“Well, for the time of night, and the kind of night, it seems to me the story was full long enough. But what’s it all for?”

“Oh, nothing in particular.”

“Well, where’s the point of it?”

“Oh, there isn’t any particular point to it. Only, if you are not in too much of a hurry to rush off to San Francisco with that postoffice appointment, Mr. Lykins, I’d advise you to ‘put up at Gadsby’s’ for a spell, and take it easy. Good-bye. God bless you!”

So saying, Riley blandly turned on his heel and left the astonished school-teacher standing there, a musing and motionless snow image shining in the broad glow of the street-lamp.

He never got that post-office.