Cinder Path Tales

CINDER-PATH TALES applied a few days before for a position as bookkeeper. I stopped him and asked bluntly for work of any kind. He offeredme a job as day laborer, cutting ice on some pond several miles away; for he was the manager ofan ice company. I should have accepted at once had he not, with true Yankee shrewdness,argued from my evident necessity and unskilfulness that I should work for less than aregular day'spay. At this I demurred, but should certainly haveyielded had not Hacking, by some freak of fortune, passing by,caught inmy speech the accents of the "old Shire." He introduced himself without ceremony, and taking meby the arm, ledme away, tell­ ing the ice-cutter to go to a place where the climate wouldgive him no occupation, unless he changed his business. Hacking was a big, bluff chap with a red face, and not a bit of the Yankee about him, though he was then some ten years over. When heoffered me his friendship, and sug­ gested that we could talk better in a warm place, andafter a lunch, you may be sure I did not refuse him. My heart and stomach were alike empty. All through my disappointments a stiff upper lip had I kept, but this first bit of kindness wasalmost too much for me, and I