"Wait," said the father roughly yet kindly, brought back from his dreams. "Soon you shall eat."
He conjured up from the bottom of the other basket a big bowl half full of a sort of porridge made from little millet, which was cold and distasteful but which was all that he had. It was the work of a few minutes to light the tiny portable whiteclay stove which he had included in his salvage and which even the poorest in the land always possess. Soon his cooking was done and the child was eating and had become content.
"Ba-ba," it lisped again, struggling to get up. "Where do we go?"
"To the city," grumbled the father, beginning to pack up again. "To the city. Stay quiet. We have far to go."
Already he was off, trundling the wheelbarrow and still eating as he walked. The sun rose higher and higher and perspiration beaded his forehead, but now there was no question of turning back. He was following the mysterious causeway which led to his destiny. On and on he tramped, pushing the creaking wheelbarrow through the chasm of space and sometimes exchanging remarks with the passing muleteers and camel-drivers. Traffic was growing heavier as the city was approached and a veil of dust hung in the air. The highway was strung across the plain like a great frayed rope, which sometimes tightened to a rigid straight line, and sometimes was all knots and twists invented to dismay those who were weary and ill at ease.
In the middle of the day the man lay down and slept under a tree; but ere two hours had passed he was up again and pressing on.
The sun flared out; the stars twinkled brightly in the skies; and still he did not stop. Hardy as only a peasantry can be who know no comforts, he pressed on tirelessly—determined to reach his objective. The creaking wheel was a veritable lullaby to the child who slept as peacefully as if in its mother's arms, hardly stirring in spite of the bumping, always stretched motionless on its little back.
On and on in the darkness, one hour, two hours, three hours, four. Then at last in the middle of the night, when full forty miles had been covered, a low blaze of lights and the shadow of a great city-wall.
The man stopped abruptly and the jerk woke up the child.
"Ba-ba," came the inevitable cry.