at once, in spite of my perverse resolve, I looked up.
I someway felt rebuked.

The speaker was very slowly, noiselessly closing
the door. I could hardly face him when he turned
around. An old man, of sixty-five, at least, but with
a face and an eye of the most cheery and wholesome
expression I had ever seen in either youth or age.
Over his broad bronzed forehead and white hair
he wore a low-crowned, wide-brimmed black felt
hat, somewhat rusted now, and with the band
grease-crusted, and the binding frayed at intervals,
and sagging from the threads that held it on. An
old-styled frock coat of black, dull brown in streaks,
and quite shiny about the collar and lapels. A waistcoat
of no describable material or pattern, and a
clean white shirt and collar of one piece, with a black
string-tie and double bow, which would have been
entirely concealed beneath the long white beard
but for its having worked around to one side
of the neck. The front outline of the face was
cleanly shaven, and the beard, growing simply from
the under chin and throat, lent the old pioneer the
rather singular appearance of having hair all over
him with this luxurious growth pulled out above
his collar for mere sample.

I arose and asked the old man to sit down, handing
him a chair decorously.