And when the census-taker came, Creepy sat in his hollow chair, and fixed his great dark eyes upon them both, while she gave the names of Enoch and Sue, and the twenty or more, older or younger, who made up the list of their companions.
“And so that’s all, is it?” said the census-taker.
“That’s all,” replied the matron.
“That’s all,” repeated Creepy, nodding, “all but me.”
“Now may Heaven forgive me,” exclaimed the matron, as passing through the old porch she caught sight of Creepy, “if I did not speak the truth; but who would ever have thought of the poor crooked thing, and more than all, of giving such a name as that to go and be printed before all the world, which no one knows who gave it to him, more than where he came from himself, may the good Lord have pity upon him.”
She bustled on in too much haste to let her conscience smite her very deeply, for there was a stir in the almshouse that morning. It was one of the glorious golden days in October, and from time immemorial it had been the custom of the house, once in the year, for every one, old and young, to get work out of the way, don their best clothes, and set off in a triumphant march still farther out beyond the city, out to the great belt of yellow woods that lay just on the border of the bay. And there they would rustle about in the fallen leaves like children, and fill up the emptied lunch-baskets with nuts for the winter evenings, and never come back till the golden light of afternoon began to falter, and it was time to get home before twilight damp should fall on rheumatic bones. And this was the morning for them, this time. But they never had been so late getting off. The census-taker had hindered the matron until she declared at last when he was really gone she was in such a toss she hardly knew which way to turn first; and then they missed Ben who had always been such a dependence and it seemed as if something was all wrong, going without him for the first time.
But they were off at last, and Creepy watched them until the last figure disappeared under some yellow trees that stood at the corner of the road. It was Sue, and she was just taking Enoch’s lunch-basket out of his hand.
“Give it to me, man,” she said, “are you forgetting all about that lame shoulder? ’Twill be stiffer than a rusty hinge to-morrow.”
“It’s you who are forgetting,” said Enoch. “You might remember that you are five years older than any one of us, and that your feet will be failing you before we reach the next turn.”