He had been standing near the roadside, just under the tree upon which I had seen the sign, "Rest." My heart dotted and carried one.
"The sign man himself!" I exclaimed.
I arose instantly and walked down the road toward him.
"A man has only to stop anywhere here," I said exultantly, "and things happen." The stranger's appearance was indeed extraordinary.

He seemed at first glimpse to be about twice as large around the hips as he was at the shoulders, but this I soon discovered to be due to no natural avoir-dupois but to the prodigious number of soiled newspapers and magazines with which the low-hanging pockets of his overcoat were stuffed.

For he was still wearing an old shabby overcoat though the weather was warm and bright--and on his head was an odd and outlandish hat.

It was of fur, flat at the top, flat as a pie tin, with the moth-eaten earlaps turned up at the sides and looking exactly like small furry ears.

These, with the round steel spectacles which he wore--the only distinctive feature of his countenance--gave him an indescribably droll appearance.
"A fox!" I thought.
Then I looked at him more closely.
"No," said I, "an owl, an owl!" The stranger stepped out into the road and evidently awaited my approach.