country," he said.

But the salamander indicated with his thumb a clump of trees on the
green plain north of the cemetery. "Ole Mars' Ward's place--cole spring
dah." He then departed, breaking into a run after he had passed the
gate, his ample mouth watering at the thought of a certain chunk of
taffy at the mercantile establishment kept by Aunt Dinah in a corner of
her one-roomed cabin. At sunset the keeper went thirstily out with a tin
pail on his arm, in search of the cold spring. "If it could only be like
the spring down under the rocks where I used to drink when I was a boy!"
he thought. He had never walked in that direction before. Indeed, now
that he had abandoned the town, he seldom went beyond the walls of the
cemetery. An old road led across to the clump of trees, through fields
run to waste, and following it he came to the place, a deserted house
with tumble-down fences and overgrown garden, the out-buildings
indicating that once upon a time there were many servants and a
prosperous master. The house was of wood, large on the ground, with
encircling piazzas; across the front door rough bars had been nailed,
and the closed blinds were protected in the same manner; from long want
of paint the clapboards were gray and mossy, and the floor of the piazza
had fallen in here and there from decay. The keeper decided that his
cemetery was a much more cheerful place than this, and then he looked
around for the spring. Behind the house the ground sloped down; it must
be there. He went around and came suddenly upon a man lying on an old
rug outside of a back door. "Excuse me. I thought nobody lived here," he
said.

"Nobody does," replied the man; "I am not much of a body, am I?"

His left arm was gone, and his face was thin and worn with long illness;
he closed his eyes after speaking, as though the few words had exhausted
him.

"I came for water from a cold spring you have here, somewhere," pursued
the keeper, contemplating the wreck before him with the interest of one
who has himself been severely wounded and knows the long, weary pain.
The man waved his hand toward the slope without unclosing his eyes, and
Rodman went off with his pail and found a little shady hollow, once
curbed and paved with white pebbles, but now neglected, like all the
place. The water was cold, however, deliciously cold. He filled his pail
and thought that perhaps after all he would exert himself to make
coffee, now that the sun was down; it