“Why, yes. He looks as though he never ate, drank, or slept; and his child looks older than himself, and he looks like time broken off from eternity, and anxious to gain a resting-place.”
“And how does his horse look?” said I.
“As for his horse, he looks fatter and gayer, and shows more animation and courage than he did twenty years ago. The last time Rugg spoke to me he inquired how far it was to Boston. I told him just one hundred miles.”
“‘Why,’ said he, ‘how can you deceive me so? It is cruel to mislead a traveller. I have lost my way; pray direct me the nearest way to Boston.’
“I repeated, it was one hundred miles.
“‘How can you say so?’ said he; ‘I was told last evening it was but fifty, and I have travelled all night.’
“‘But,’ said I, ‘you are now travelling from Boston. You must turn back.’
“‘Alas,’ said he, ‘it is all turn back! Boston shifts with the wind, and plays all around the compass. One man tells me it is to the east, another to the west; and the guide-posts too, they all point the wrong way.’
“‘But will you not stop and rest?’ said I; ‘you seem wet and weary.’
“‘Yes,’ said he, ‘it has been foul weather since I left home.’