Part 33 (1/2)

”And uncommonly interesting comments they are. That library of pamphlets and comments, in my opinion, is as valuable as Pepys's Diary.

Old Humphrey had struck the right chord. In Pepys's Diary, which was kept for nine years during the gay and exciting period of the reign of Charles II, one lives, as it were, amid the old court scenes.

Franklin turned over the leaves of the volume. ”It is a curious book,”

said he.

The light was poor, and he took the book to the door. Above the tall houses of the narrow street was a rift of sunny blue sky.

”There is something in the handwriting that looks familiar,” said he.

”It seems as though I had seen that writing somewhere before. Where did you find these books?”

”They came to me from my wife's father, who kept the storeway until he was nigh upon ninety years old. He set great store by these books, which led me to read them.

”When Pepys's Diary was printed I was reminded of them, and read them over again, the comments and all. The person who made those notes had a very interesting mind. I think him to have been a philosopher.”

The ink on the margin of the volume was fading, and Franklin strained his eyes to read the comments. Suddenly he turned and came into the store and sat down.

”Father Humphrey, bring me another volume.”

Father Humphrey lighted the candle again and went into the same dark and tomblike recess, and brought out two more volumes, striking them against the corners of shelves to remove from them the dust and mold.

He noticed that his patron seemed overcome. Franklin was not an emotional man, but his lip quivered.

”You think that the book is interesting?”

He lifted his face and seemed lost in thought.

”Ecton--Ecton--Ecton,” he said. ”Uncle Tom lived there--Uncle Tom, who started the subscription for the chime of bells.”

He had found the word ”Ecton” in the pamphlets, and he again began to turn the leaves.

”Squire Isted,” he said, ”Squire Isted.” He had found the name of Squire Isted on one of the leaves. He had heard the name in his youth.

”The World's End,” he said. He stood up and turned round and round.

”How queer he acts!” thought Father Humphrey. ”I thought him a very calm man. What is it about the World's End?” he asked.

”Oh, it is the name of an old tavern that I have found here. I had some great-uncles that used to have a farm and forge near an inn of that name. That was very long ago, before I was born. Old names seem to me like voices of the past.”

He put his spectacles to his eyes and held the book again up to the light.

He presently said: ”Luke Fuller--that is an old English name; there was such a one who was ousted for nonconformity in the days of the Conventicles.”

He turned round and lifted his face and stood still, like a statue.

Was he going mad? Poor old Father Humphrey began to look toward the door to see if there were clear way of escape for him should the strange man become violent.

Presently he said:

”Earls--Barton,” and lifted his brows.