CHAPTER XIV

THE OLD LADY OF THE WALNUTS AND OTHERS


What manner of men we were and what our business was, thus wandering
along the highroads with packs on our backs and stout sticks in our
hands, was matter for no little speculation, and even suspicion, to the
rural mind. We did not seem to fit in with any familiar classification of
vagabond. We might be peddlers, or we might be "hoboes," but there was a
disquieting uncertainty about us, and we felt it necessary occasionally
to make reassuring explanations. Once or twice we found no opportunity to
do this, as, for instance, one sinister, darksome evening, we stood in
hesitation at a puzzling cross-road--near Dansville, I think--and awaited
the coming of an approaching buggy from which to ask the way. It was
driven by two ladies, who, on our making a signal of distress to them,
immediately whipped up with evident alarm, and disappeared in a flash.
Dear things! they evidently anticipated a hold-up, and no doubt arrived
home with a breathless tale of two suspicious-looking characters hanging
about the neighbourhood.

On another occasion, we had been seated awhile under a walnut tree
growing near a farm, and scattering its fruitage half across the
highroad. Colin had been anointing his suffering foot, and, as I told
him, looked strongly reminiscent of a certain famous corn-cure
advertisement. Meanwhile, I had been once more quoting Virgil: "The
walnut in the woodland attires herself in wealth of blossom and bends