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Updated: May 19, 2025
Ay, ay, friend, the pale old sour-faced growler has them all in leading-strings, the whole posse of spirits: he is often absent for weeks, and tarrying with them in their secret chambers: then they pay away to him; then they break their old crowns in bits, and pour out the diamonds into his skinny hands; then they strike with their magical rods against the stone walls, and the water-damsels must needs swim up from the bottom of the brooks, and bring him gifts, corals, and pearls, and turkisses.
That plain sour-faced child that's almost as bad as himself has just bewitched him. How she's done it there's no telling. The Lord knows she's nothing to look at and you scarcely ever hear her speak, but she did what none of us dare do.
A sour-faced and suspicious young man, Father Casey, thick-spectacled, and pointed of nose. Nothing of the jolly priest about him. He was new to the town, but he recognized Fanny and surveyed her darkly. "Father Fitzpatrick in? I'm Fanny Brandeis." "The reverend father is busy," and the glass door began to close. "Who is it?" boomed a voice from within. "Who're you turning away, Casey?"
"Mayhap I have lost my life, young man," replied the other sharply. "Internal injuries from accidents often prove fatal, and don't always show at first. I've had a severe shake." Here the sour-faced man shook himself slightly, partly to illustrate and partly to prove his point.
"The one a slouch-hatted, long-cloaked, sour-faced fanatic, like the rest of you, whom I took to be the steward or commissary I heard spoken of in the town; the other was a short sturdy fellow, with a wood-knife at his girdle, and a long quarterstaff lying beside him a black-haired knave, with white teeth and a merry countenance one of the under-rangers or bow-bearers of these walks, I fancy."
There would be no vitriolic-voiced cook to bawl commands at him this morning. And no sour-faced range boss to issue curt orders. In an hour or so perhaps in two hours Sanderson would crawl out of his blanket, get his own breakfast, and ride northeastward. He was a free agent now, and would be until he rode in to the Double A to assume his new duties.
Not to confound this person with the sour-faced man who sat glumpy, upon the bench taking snuff, the night before, let us call him Morgridge Klaus. Morgridge Klaus stole slily up stairs to Peter Mit's loft. He went up stairs because there was so much of the Morgridge about him; if there had been more of the Klaus he would undoubtedly have come down the chimney.
That plain sour-faced child that's almost as bad as himself has just bewitched him. How she's done it there's no telling. The Lord knows she's nothing to look at and you scarcely ever hear her speak, but she did what none of us dare do.
His niece admitted them, and went back to her interrupted cooking. The children hurried up the winding stone staircase, with its iron rail and its gas lantern, to the second floor. In the sitting-room, the sour-faced governess was darning a hole in a small stocking.
I had a lesson in 1814 which should have done good upon me, but success and abundance erased it from my mind. But this is no time for journalising or moralising either. Necessity is like a sour-faced cook-maid, and I a turn-spit whom she has flogged ere now, till he mounted his wheel. If W-st-k can be out by 25th January it will do much, and it is possible.
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