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The Goose Girl by Harold MacGrath
page 16 of 312 (05%)
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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