existed long ago and once had a meaning, but was now become an obsolete
word in the human dictionary. His wide placid brows and the double chin
which asserted itself above his high neckcloth gave him a curious
resemblance to portraits of Dr. Franklin.

"The country parson," said Lynde to himself. "Venerable and lovely old
character. I'll speak to him."

The old gentleman, with his head slightly thrown back, had his eyes
fixed intently on some object in the sky, and was on the point of
passing Lynde without observing him, when the young man politely lifted
his hat, and said, "I beg your pardon, sir, but will you be kind enough
to tell me the name of the town yonder?"

The old gentleman slowly brought his eyes down from the sky, fixed them
vacantly upon Lynde, and made no response. Presuming him to be deaf,
Lynde repeated his question in a key adapted to the exigency. Without a
change in his mild, benevolent expression, and in a voice whose
modulations were singularly musical, the old gentleman exclaimed, "Go to
the devil!" and passed on.

The rejoinder was so unexpected, the words themselves were so brusque,
while the utterance was so gentle and melodious, that Lynde refused to
credit his ears. Could he have heard aright? Before he recovered from
his surprise the gentleman in black was far up the slope, his gaze again
riveted on some remote point in the zenith.

"It wasn't the country parson after all," said Lynde, with a laugh; "it
was the village toper. He's an early bird--I'll say that for him--to
have secured his intoxicating worm at this hour of the morning."