He started off briskly toward the road down a long lane of corn, Pollock following him, surprised at his quick recovery.
“The night is fine,” said the old man, tramping over the clods and brushing swiftly through the corn-stalks. “The August nights are beautiful in these parts. This is the season of the shooting stars. Ah,—there is one now,”—and he pointed to the glittering vault where a meteor shot silently athwart the heavens, leaving a faint, soft light behind.
“That was a fine one,” said Pollock.
“Verily, it was, sir.” The old man continued, standing with head uplifted following the track of the star, and he repeated with unction: “‘O ye stars of heaven, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him forever.’ That,” he added, “is in the Apocrypha, as you doubtless remember.”
Then he turned and hurried on, Pollock following and with difficulty keeping at his heels.
When they reached the fence Dameron climbed it spryly and dropped down on the other side near Pollock’s horse.
“You will allow me to walk to the house with you; you must be very tired,” said Pollock, mystified by the old man’s strange behavior.
“No; oh, no! I am very well. You are quite mistaken in thinking me ill. I frequently walk abroad at night. I was merely looking at the corn. I’m away all day so that I have little time for inspecting the farm.”
“Your corn-field is very handsome. I pass it frequently,” said Pollock, still mystified.
“Yes; the soil is rich. Now, you must go on your way. I’m sorry to have troubled you, but I’m feeling very well. Never better in my life.”