A stout projection rested on one of the rear wheels. Here stood the proprietor of the vehicle, while behind him in a window were displayed his wares. It was evident that Simon P. Groot followed the romantic career of an itinerant hawker, dealing in that wide range of commodities roughly comprised in the quaint term, “Yankee notions.” Before the merchandizing voice came to the new arrival’s ears as anything more than a confused jumble, Kent was struck with the expansive splendor of the man’s gestures, the dignity of his robust figure, and the beauty of a broad whitening beard that spread sidewise like the ripples from a boat’s stem. Two blemishes unhappily marred the majesty of Simon P. Groot’s presence; a pair of pin-head eyes, mutually attracted to each other, and a mean and stringent little voice. Freed of these drawbacks, his oratory might well, one could not but feel, have rolled in any of our legislative chambers more superbly and just as ineffectually as much of the other oratory therein practised. That the Annalakans were truly spellbound by it was obvious. Indeed, Kent was at a loss to understand the depth of their absorption until he had come within the scope of the high-piping words. “There, gentlemen and ladies,” Simon P. Groot was saying, “there in that place of vast silences and infolding shadows I met and addressed one who was soon to be no more. ‘Madam,’ I said, ‘you are worn. You are wan. You are weary. Trust the chivalry of one who might be your father. Rest and be comforted as with balm.’ Standing by the roadside, she drooped like a flower. ‘There is no rest for me,’ said she in mournful tones. ‘I must away upon my mission.’ ‘Stay!’ I bade her. ‘Ere you go, but touch your lips to this revivifying flagon. De Lorimer’s Life Giving Tonic, free from intoxicants, poisons, and deception, a boon to the blood, a balm to the nerves, a prop to the flagging spirit.’ She looked, she tasted, she drank. New color sprang to her cheeks. Her form pulsated with joyous vigor. ‘Aged sir,’ said she, ‘I know not your name; but if the blessings of a harried spirit are of avail, your sleep will be sweet this night.’ Of this wonderful balm, ladies and gentlemen of Annalaka, I have still a few bottles left at the low price of half a dollar each. Sickness flies before it. Amalgamating at once with the blood, it clears the precious life fluid of all impurities, and rehabilitates man, woman, and child, body, soul and mind.” The shrill voice rose and fell, the wide beard quivered with the passion of salesmanship, the gaudy bottles on the shelf were replaced by half-dollars, until the market flagged. Whereupon again the orator took up his tale.