Under Sealed Orders | Page 4

steps were
slow, and he half-stumbled across the threshold. He looked at the
wood-box behind the stove, but there was not a stick in it. He next
opened the door of the little cupboard near by, but not a scrap of food
was there. Almost mechanically he thrust his hand into his pocket and
brought forth a purse. This he opened, but there was nothing inside.
Half-dazed he stood there in the centre of the room. Then he glanced
toward the paper with the drawings lying upon the table, and as he did
so a peculiar light of comprehension shone in his eyes.
CHAPTER II

TO THE LOWEST BIDDER
There was an unusually large number of people gathered in front of
Thomas Marshall's store one morning about the last of May. Women
were there as well as men, and all were talking and laughing in a most
pleasant way. The cause of this excitement was explained by a notice
tacked on the store door.
"The Board, Lodging, and Clothing of David Findley, Pauper, will be
let to the lowest bidder for a period of one year, on Wednesday, May
30th inst., at Thomas Marshall's store, Chutes Corner, at 10 o'clock A.
M.
"Signed
"J. B. FLETCHER T. S. TITUS O. R. MITCHELL Overseers of Poor."
This notice had been posted there for about two weeks, and had
attracted the attention of all the people in the parish. It was out of the
ordinary for such a sale to take place at this season of the year. Hitherto,
it had occurred at the last of December. But this was an exceptional
case, and one in which all were keenly interested.
"I hear he is stark crazy," Mrs. Munson was saying to a neighbour,
Peter McQueen, "and that he has a funny notion in his head."
"Should say so," McQueen replied. "Any man who has lived as he has
for months must be pretty well off his base. Why, he didn't have a scrap
of food in the house when he was found by Jim Trask one morning the
last of April. Jim has been keeping him ever since."
"Isn't he able to work?" Mrs. Munson inquired.
"Seems not. I guess he's a scholar or something like that, and did some
book-keeping in the city until he drifted this way. He must have had a
little money to live as long as he has. He's always been a mystery to
me."

"And to everybody else, I guess."
"Yes, so it appears. But it's a great pity that we've got to be burdened
with the likes of him. Our taxes are heavy enough now without having
to take care of this strange pauper. We've got too many on our hands
already for our good."
"But do you know anything about that queer notion of his, Pete?" Mrs.
Munson asked.
"Ho, ho, I've heard about it, and I guess it's true all right. He's in love
with Break Neck Falls, and makes regular trips there every day, and
sometimes at night. Jim followed him once, and saw him standing upon
that high rock right by the falls. He kept waving his hands and shouting
to the water, though Jim could not make out what he was saying. He
has some writing on a piece of paper which he keeps very close. He has
told, though, that his plan will do wonderful things for the city and the
whole surrounding country. He once said that we don't know what a
valuable thing we have right in our midst. I guess we've lived here
longer than he has, and should know a thing or two. It is not necessary
for a half-cracked old man to come and tell us of our possessions. But,
say, here he is now, coming along in Jim Trask's farm waggon."
As the team drew near, all eyes were turned in its direction, for the first
glimpse of "Crazy David," as he was generally called. There was no
difficulty about seeing him for he was sitting by Jim's side on the rough
board seat. He looked much older and careworn than the night he had
awakened from his dream, and found his wood-box, cupboard, and
pocket-book empty. He had sat huddled on the seat for most of the way
up the road, but when near the store he lifted his eyes and fixed them
curiously upon the people before him. There was something
pathetically appealing in the expression upon his face. He seemed like a
man trying to recall something to his mind. He appeared strangely out
of place in that rough farm waggon. Even his almost ragged clothes
could not hide the dignity of his bearing as he straightened himself up
and tried to assume the appearance of a gentleman. The people saw