"But you didn't tell me when we were there," she said.
"It was better not. We have had listeners," the man responded.
"I was thinking," Winifred went on, changing the subject abruptly, "of that story of the tailor. You know, if the Phoul-a-Phooka had ridden down that precipice we saw, with him upon his back, why, the tailor couldn't have told what happened; for he would have been killed."
"There's no saying, there's no saying!" replied the stranger, absently. "There are mysteries, my girl; but the legend declares that it was the garment which the tailor carried that caused the beast to throw him off."
"Are legends true?" the girl asked.
"Who knows?" answered the old man, with the same dreamy air. "They hold a kernel of truth, every one of them."
"The lady says many things are not true," Winifred observed.
"The lady! What lady?" demanded the other almost fiercely, with a light of cunning gleaming from his black eyes.
"The lady from America."