Hammond thought.
And yet there was a kind of fascination about that bent and shrunken
figure, those feeble movements, and shuffling gait. John Hammond turned
to look after the old man when he had passed him, and stood to watch him
as he went slowly up the Fell, plant his crutch stick upon the ground
before every footstep, as if it were a third leg, and more serviceable
than either of the other two.
Mr. Hammond watched him for two or three minutes, but, as the old man's
movements had an automatic regularity, the occupation soon palled, and
he turned and walked toward Fellside. A few yards nearer the grounds he
met James Steadman, walking briskly, and smoking his morning pipe.
'You are out early this morning,' said Hammond, by way of civility.
'I am always pretty early, sir. I like a mouthful of morning air.'
'So do I. By-the-bye, can you tell me anything about a queer-looking old
man I passed just now a little higher up the Fell? Such an old, old man,
with long white hair.'
'Yes, sir. I believe I know him.'
'Who is he? Does he live in Grasmere?'
Steadman looked puzzled.
Pages:
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322