Without a word, the traveler slung his bag over his shoulder, and started out. “Say, stranger!” called the landlord. The young man stopped. “Hit’s a-goin’ ter rain.” “Let it rain,” replied the stranger cheerfully, at the same time starting away. “An’ hit’s a-goin’ to blow.” If the stranger heard him this time, he paid no attention, but continued his way through the gate and into the field. “Ah, stranger, hit’s er goin’ ter sto-r-r-r-m!” called the landlord, with both hands to his mouth, trumpet-like. But the stranger only looked back and laughed mockingly, and when he reached the opening in the woods he again turned. The landlord was standing in the same place, apparently making further dismal predictions as to the weather. With a wave of his hand, the traveler turned and entered the woods; a step more carried him out of sight, as he was already out of hearing; and turning his face resolutely to the path, he started sturdily on his journey. Not a very resolute face, this man’s, but a good-natured face framed by dark hair, with a shrewd, good-natured pair of dark eyes--a pair of eyes that could laugh, though perhaps with something more of scorn than merriment. But for all their merry twinkle, they looked changeable. In fact, viewing him as he trudged along, one would have noticed an unstable look on every feature. There was nothing wicked in the face, though it betrayed some traces of passion; nothing even mean about it--a face, taken altogether, that was likely to create a good impression at first sight; better at first sight, perhaps, than after a more extended acquaintance. There was a restless energy in his stride that spoke well for his physical training, and his long, swinging step had carried him through the patch of scrub oak and to the base of the mountain before he had done laughing at the stupid landlord. “Storm! ha, ha!” he laughed, as he emerged into the bright spring sunshine, and inhaled deep breaths of the bracing mountain air. “A storm to-day, the stupid!” and he laughed contemptuously. Not so stupid after all, if he had but known, for the storm was nearer than he thought, but he trudged on, content to be in the sunshine on _his_ side of the mountain, and neither knowing nor caring for the thick bank of clouds that were rapidly nearing him, and that were darkening all the face of nature with their gloom. They were on the other side of the mountain as yet, so he laughed at the landlord’s stupidity and trudged merrily along. Somewhat rougher was the road now, and harder climbing, and the rougher and harder it became the higher he ascended. Still he trudged on, stopping now at times to rest on some wayside stone, and muttering a curse over the roughness of the road. He was well up the mountain before he realized the truth of the landlord’s prediction. “The old rascal told the truth after all,” he muttered discontentedly; “and I suppose I am in for a wetting unless I can find some shelter.”