bent and
wrinkled old man with long white hair which trailed down from under a
broad-brimmed hat. He was dragging a coffin, single-handed. The free
end of the solemn box bumped down the wooden steps with a hollow clatter
that suggested emptiness. There was a woodpile at one side of the yard.
The old man tugged the casket over the litter of chips and dropped the
end. He wrenched an ax from its cleft in a chopping-block and caved in
the top of the coffin with the first blow.

The man Farr, observing from the road, saw that the casket was empty.
The old man continued to bash and batter.

The wayfarer, before the destruction was begun, had time to note that
the coffin was a remarkably fine specimen of cabinet-maker's work. There
were various sorts of wood inlaid with care, and the fretwork along
its sides had been jig-sawed with much pains spent in detail, and the
pilasters were turned with art. But the old man battered at all this
excellence with savageness. It was evident that he was not merely
providing kindling-wood--he was expending fury.

It was an affair that demanded undivided attention from the observer in
the road; but a man came around the corner of the house just then and
Farr promptly gave over his interest in the aged chopper.

The new arrival was clothed cap-a-pie in armor.

He stood quietly at a little distance and gazed from under his vizor on
the energetic old man at the woodpile.

Farr noted that the armor was obviously home-made. The helmet, though
burnished and adorned with a horse's tail, had the unmistakable outlines
of a copper kettle. The cuirass could not disguise its obligation to
certain parts of an air-tight stove. But the ensemble was peculiarly
striking and the man in the road took a quick glance around at the New
England landscape in order to assure himself that he was still where he
supposed he was.

Farr went to the fence and folded his arms on the top.

The old man, resting a moment, seemed to feel that intent regard from
behind and, without turning his body, hooked his narrow and bony chin
over his shoulder and swapped a long stare with the stranger.

"Well," inquired the venerable chopper, "what is on thy mind, sir?" His
tone was sour.

"Seeing that the question is direct and remembering that age deserves
the truth, I'll say that I was thinking that this seems to be an ideal
location for a private lunatic-asylum, and that guests are allowed to
enjoy themselves."

"I will h