The fat, lazy landlord looked on placidly while his guest made the necessary preparations for departure. He was a fat, not over-cleanly man, was the village landlord; not much given to talking, and--probably for that reason--bearing the reputation among his village cronies of being a powerful thinker; very slow in his movements, and still slower, if possible, with his thoughts, so, by the time he appeared to realize his misfortune in losing the only guest his house had entertained for some days, the traveler had made all snug, and was filling his short brier pipe ready for the road. “Now, landlord,” he said briskly, after taking one or two preparatory whiffs, “if you will just show me the road, I’ll make a start.” Somewhat discomfited by his guest’s promptness, the landlord, after closely examining the interior of his pipe, as if for inspiration, and shaking his head profoundly after, as if he failed in finding any--probably because the pipe was empty--pointed his fat index finger down the road. “I know that,” said the young man, testily; “but where is this mountain road?” “Ain’t none--leastwise no road. There’s er kind er path fer th’ first few miles, en then yer get to ther top, an’ kin see yer way down.” “Where is this path?” demanded the young man, impatiently. Now, instead of answering this simple question, the landlord sauntered heavily to the door, and after staring for some moments at the horizon, sauntered as heavily back to the bar, and proceeded slowly and carefully to fill his pipe, a proceeding that seemed to tax the good nature of the traveler severely. “Guess you didn’t hear my question, did you?” he inquired sarcastically. The landlord nodded his head slowly, and lighted his pipe. “Then why don’t you answer it?” demanded the young man, with increased impatience. “Where is that confounded path?” “Stranger, ye’ll hev ter take th’ road,” replied the host, puffing calmly. “Yer can’t go over th’ mounting ter-day.” “Why not?” “’Cause, stranger, hit’s a-goin’ ter storm,” replied the landlord, with an air of having definitely settled the whole matter. The stranger saw the flood of sunshine covering everything with its golden gleam, glanced rapidly at the cloudless sky overhead, and burst into a hearty laugh at the transparent ruse. Who but a tavern-keeper could think of a storm on such a day? “Now landlord,” he said, after exhausting his mirth, “I’m really sorry that I am obliged to leave you to-day; but I’m going, and I’m going by way of the mountain; so the sooner you point out the beginning of that confounded path, the sooner I can get on my way. Now, where does it start from?” Without a word in reply, the host marched heavily to the door, and pointed to an opening in the scrubby timber directly in front of the house, and only separated therefrom by the road and a stretch of field devoted apparently to the cultivation of stones; and that was all it seemed capable of bearing.