SACKCLOTH AND ASHES

Just at dusk one cold, rainy night late in August, a shabby, weary, wet,
old man plodded through the dripping woods, across the stone bridge, and
up the road toward Parker. He had come a long way through mud and
moisture, and was very tired, yet the first three farmhouses he passed
by with scarcely a glance. But as he neared the fourth one, he eagerly
scanned the place as if familiar with its surroundings, and listened
intently for the sound of voices, seeming disappointed at the result,
for apparently not a creature was stirring indoors or out. Not even old
Towzer came to challenge him as he unlatched the gate and approached the
house, and not a ray of light shone out into the darkness from window or
door, though it was yet early evening. The place was as silent as a
grave. Puzzled, the man made a circuit of the cottage, but neither saw
nor heard anything of the occupants.

"I wonder what has happened," he thought to himself. "Guess I won't
knock, it might scare them if they have gone to bed. Maybe they are away
visiting. I will just slip into the barn and go to bed in the hay. Lucky
I had a big dinner, I am not in the least hungry now, and if they are
at home I can get breakfast here in the morning--I guess."

He had tramped many long miles since dawn, trying to reach this town
before nightfall, and was so worn out with his exertions that he fell
asleep almost as soon as he had burrowed a comfortable bed in the
sweet-scented hay, nor did he awake until the new day was several hours
old. The sun was shining--he could tell that from the bright light in
the barn, but it was not the sunshine which had awakened him.

The first thing he was conscious of as he opened his eyes to unfamiliar
surroundings was the sound of voices close by, and the patter of feet on
the loose boards overhead. Cautiously he lifted himself on his elbow and
looked about him, but at first he saw only an untidy confusion of garden
tools, boxes, bags and other truck, piled promiscuously about wherever
space would accommodate them. Then as his eyes became more accustomed to
the light, he discovered a slender, brown-haired girl in a faded, dingy,
calico gown huddled on top of a pile of empty grain sacks in the darkest
corner of the barn. Her face was turned from him, but from her attitude
and the sound of an occasional sniff, he judged that she had been
crying. Her companion on the rafters overhead was out of range of his
visi