“Shall I take your hat and dry it by the kitchen fire?” said Tom.
“No,” replied the stranger. “I—I must not stay long.” So saying he turned his chair, so as to leave his face very much in the shade, and sat perfectly silent.
“A rough night, sir,” remarked the young farmer.
“Eh?—yes remarkably fine,” replied the stranger.
“Fine?”
“Oh—the—the—snow you mean. Yes, very rough—very rough, indeed—I beg your pardon.”
The company looked very eagerly at each other, and then at the abstracted stranger in great wonderment and intense curiosity.
Tom now entered with the brandy. The stranger eagerly clutched the little pewter measure in which it was brought and toss’d off its contents at once. Then he drew a long breath, and turning to Tom, he said:—
“Stay—I—I want to know—”
“What?” said Tom, as the man paused a moment.