A slight observer would speak of the old man's quietude; but, on
closer scrutiny, you discover that there is a continual unrest
within him, which somewhat resembles the fluttering action of the
nerves in a corpse from which life has recently departed. Though he
never exhibits any violent action, and, indeed, might appear to be
sitting quite still, yet you perceive, when his minuter
peculiarities begin to be detected, that he is always making some
little movement or other. He looks anxiously at his plate of cakes
or pyramid of apples and slightly alters their arrangement, with an
evident idea that a great deal depends on their being disposed
exactly thus and so. Then for a moment he gazes out of the window;
then he shivers quietly and folds his arms across his breast, as if
to draw himself closer within himself, and thus keep a flicker of
warmth in his lonesome heart. Now he turns again to his merchandise
of cakes, apples, and candy, and discovers that this cake or that
apple, or yonder stick of red and white candy, has somehow got out
of its proper position. And is there not a walnut-kernel too many
or too few in one of those small tin measures? Again the whole
arrangement appears to be settled to his mind; but, in the course of
a minute or two, there will assuredly be something to set right. At
times, by an indescribable shadow upon his features, too quiet,
however, to be noticed until you are familiar with his ordinary
aspect, the expression of frostbitten, patient despondency becomes
very touching. It seems as if just at that instant the suspicion
occurred to him that, in his chill decline of life, earning scanty
bread by selling cakes, apples, and candy, he is a very miserable
old fellow.

But, if he thinks so, it is a mistake. He can never suffer the
extreme of misery, because the tone of his whole being is too much