The road took a sudden plunge among the spurs of two converging
hills. As I began to descend, the first gleam of sunshine burst from
the dull heaven and played over the hoar-frost. I looked up, and
saw, on the slope of the hill to the right, a horseman also
descending.
At first glance I took him for a brother sportsman who, too, had
abandoned hope of a fox. But the second assured me of my mistake.
The stranger wore a black suit of antique, clerical cut, a shovel
hat, and gaiters; his nag was the sorriest of ponies, with a shaggy
coat of flaring yellow, and so low in the legs that the broad flaps
of its rider's coat all but trailed on the ground. A queerer turnout
I shall never see again, though I live to be a hundred.
He appeared not to notice me, but pricked leisurably down the slope,
and I soon saw that, as our paths ran and at the pace we were going,
we should meet at the foot of the descent: which we presently did.
"Ah, indeed!" said the stranger, reining in his pony as though now
for the first time aware of me: "I wish you a very good day, sir.
We are well met."
He pulled off his hat with a fantastic politeness. For me, my
astonishment grew as I regarded him more closely. A mass of lanky,
white hair drooped on either side of a face pale, pinched, and
extraordinarily wrinkled; the clothes that wrapped his diminutive
body were threadbare, greasy, and patched in all directions.
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