The Goose Girl by Harold MacGrath
page 16 of 312 (05%)
page 16 of 312 (05%)
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up his face with grotesque lights. Here was age, mused the man outside
the window; nothing less than fourscore years rested upon those rounded shoulders. The face was corrugated with wrinkles, like a frosted road; eyes heavily spectacled, a ragged thatch of hair on the head, a ragged beard on the chin. Aware of a shadow between him and the fading daylight, the clock-mender looked up from his work. The eyes of the two men met, but only for a moment. The mountaineer, who felt rejuvenated by this contrast, straightened his shoulders and started to cross the street to the tavern. [Illustration: "Good night, Gretchen. Good luck to you."] "Good night, Gretchen. Good luck to you and your geese to-morrow." "Thanks, Herr Ludwig. And will you be long in the city?" "That depends; perhaps," adding a grim smile in answer to a grim thought. He offered his hand, which she accepted trustfully. He was a strange old man, but she liked him. When she withdrew her hand, something cold and hard remained in her palm. Wonders of all the world! It was a piece of gold. Her eyes went up quickly, but the giver smiled reassuringly and put a finger against his lips. "But, Herr," she remonstrated. |
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