As they approached along the pathway Ralph Cranfield sat in an oaken elbow-chair half unconsciously gazing at the three visitors and enveloping their homely figures in the misty romance that pervaded his mental world.  “Here,” thought he, smiling at the conceit—­“here come three elderly personages, and the first of the three is a venerable sage with a staff.  What if this embassy should bring me the message of my fate?”

While Squire Hawkwood and his colleagues entered, Ralph rose from his seat and advanced a few steps to receive them, and his stately figure and dark countenance as he bent courteously toward his guests had a natural dignity contrasting well with the bustling importance of the squire.  The old gentleman, according to invariable custom, gave an elaborate preliminary flourish with his cane in the air, then removed his three-cornered hat in order to wipe his brow, and finally proceeded to make known his errand.

“My colleagues and myself,” began the squire, “are burdened with momentous duties, being jointly selectmen of this village.  Our minds for the space of three days past have been laboriously bent on the selection of a suitable person to fill a most important office and take upon himself a charge and rule which, wisely considered, may be ranked no lower than those of kings and potentates.  And whereas you, our native townsman, are of good natural intellect and well cultivated by foreign travel, and that certain vagaries and fantasies of your youth are doubtless long ago corrected,—­taking all these matters, I say, into due consideration, we are of opinion that Providence hath sent you hither at this juncture for our very purpose.”

During this harangue Cranfield gazed fixedly at the speaker, as if he beheld something mysterious and unearthly in his pompous little figure, and as if the squire had worn the flowing robes of an ancient sage instead of a square-skirted coat, flapped waistcoat, velvet breeches and silk stockings.  Nor was his wonder without sufficient cause, for the flourish of the squire’s staff, marvellous to relate, had described precisely the signal in the air which was to ratify the message of the prophetic sage whom Cranfield had sought around the world.

“And what,” inquired Ralph Cranfield, with a tremor in his voice—­“what may this office be which is to equal me with kings and potentates?”

“No less than instructor of our village school,” answered Squire Hawkwood, “the office being now vacant by the death of the venerable Master Whitaker after a fifty years’ incumbency.”

“I will consider of your proposal,” replied Ralph Cranfield, hurriedly, “and will make known my decision within three days.”