Part 3 (1/2)

The woman made a brave struggle to be strong, but the strain was too much for her tired nerves and she broke down and wept bitterly.

”We have but four hens left,” Wilbraham went on, speaking in a hollow voice. ”At most, working them to their full capacity, in thirty days from now we shall have only ten dozen eggs added to our present store, and upon that date I have promised to deliver to the International Cold Storage Company one thousand dozen at twenty-two and a half cents a dozen. Even with the mortgage out of the way we should still be securely bound in the clutch of bankruptcy.”

A long silence ensued. The clock out in the hall ticked loudly, each clicking sound falling upon Wilbraham's ears like a sledge-hammer blow in a forge, welding link by link a chain of ruin that should forever bind him in the shackles of misery. Unbroken save by the banging now and then of a shutter in the howling wind without, the silence continued for nearly an hour, when the nerve-killing monotony of the ceaseless ”tick-tock, tick-tock” of the clock was varied by a resounding hammering upon the door.

”It is very late,” said the woman. ”Who do you suppose can be calling at this hour? Be careful when you open the door--it may be a highwayman.”

”I should welcome a highwayman if he could help me to find anything in the house worth stealing,” said Wilbraham, as he rose from his chair and started for the door. ”Whoever it may be, it is a wild night, and despite our poverty we can still keep open house for the stranger on the moor.”

He hastened to the door and flung it wide.

”Who's there?” he cried, gazing out into the blackness of the storm.

A heavy gust of wind, icy cold, blew out his candle, and a great ma.s.s of sleet coming in with it fell with a dull, sodden thud on the floor at his feet, and some of it cut his cheek.

”I am a wanderer,” came a faint voice from without, ”frozen and starved.

In the name of humanity I beg you to take me in, lest I faint and perish.”

”Come in, come in!” cried Wilbraham. ”Whoever you are, you are more than welcome to that which is left us; little enough in all conscience.”

An aged man, bent and weary, staggered in through the door. Wilbraham sprang toward him and caught his fainting form in his strong arms.

Tenderly he led him to his own abandoned chair by the fireside, where he and his faithful wife chafed the old fellow's hands until warmth had returned to them.

”A cup of tea, my dear,” said Wilbraham. ”It will set him up.”

”And a morsel to eat, I implore you,” pleaded the stranger, in a weak, tremulous voice. ”The merest trifle, good sir, even if it be only an egg!”

The woman grew rigid at the suggestion. ”An egg? At this time when eggs are--” she began.

”There, there, Ethelinda,” interrupted Wilbraham, gently. ”We have two left in the ice-box--your breakfast and mine. Rather than see this good old man suffer longer I will gladly go without mine. The fact is, eggs have sort of disagreed with me latterly anyhow, and--”

”It is as you say, Richard,” said the woman, meekly, as with a hopeless sigh she turned toward the kitchen, whence in a short time she returned, bearing a steaming creation of her own make--a l.u.s.trous, golden egg, poached, and lying invitingly upon the crisp bosom of a piece of toast.

It was a sight of beauty, and Wilbraham's mouth watered as he gazed hungrily upon it.

And then the unexpected happened: The aged stranger, instead of voraciously devouring the proffered meal, with a kindly glance upon his host, raised his withered hands aloft as though to p.r.o.nounce a benediction upon him, and in a chanting tone droned forth the lines:

”Who eats this egg and toast delicious Receives the gift of three full wishes-- Thus do the fairy folk reward The sacrifices of this board.”

A low, rumbling peal of thunder and a blinding flash as of the lightning followed, and when the brilliant illumination of the latter had died away the stranger had vanished.

Wilbraham looked at his wife, dumb with amazement, and she, tottering backward into her chair, gazed back, her eyes distended with fear.

”Have I--have I been dreaming?” he gasped, recovering his speech in a moment. ”Or have we really had a visitor?”

”I was going to ask you the same question, Richard,” she replied. ”It really was so very extraordinary, I can hardly believe--”

And then their eyes fell upon the steaming egg, still lying like a beautiful sunset on a background of toast upon the table.