For at my age one does not begin to
teach again. But it is ridiculous to say that I am an old man."
It grew darker and darker, the trees creaked and popped in the cold, or
groaned like bass viols; and all along the roadside Mr. Jeminy could
see the feeble glimmer of fireflies, fallen among the leaves. He said
to them, "Little creatures, my flame is also spent. But I do not
intend, like you, to lie by the roadside in the wind, and keep myself
warm with memories. Now I am going where I can be of use to others.
For I am brisk and tough, and do not hope to gain by my efforts more
than I deserve."
Thus, following his thoughts, Mr. Jeminy passed, without knowing it,
the house where Mrs. Grumble, sitting by the stove, awaited his return.
The moon, riding out the wind above his head, peered down at him
between the branches, as he stepped from shadow into moonlight, and
again into shadow. Under the trees the dry, fallen leaves stirred
about his feet, and other leaves, which he could not see, fell near him
in the dark.
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