He bent over it.
"The city," he exclaimed in his rude, guttural voice, "would you see the city?"
He picked up his son and holding him tightly in his arms, pointed with one finger.
"There, you see ... the lights and the city-wall. Beyond there is a great gate through which one passes but which is now closed."
The child no longer fretted: it was staring silently, drinking in everything as if its very life depended upon strict attention. The father felt its little body taut under the ragged blue clothes. Some new impulse possessed it. It leaned towards the city, as if a mysterious force were pulling.
"Well, what do you say?" inquired the father at last, feeling the need for a little talk.
"It is good," said the child very gravely, as only a very old nation can speak. "It is good," it repeated, nodding its head after the manner of its elders—"We shall find food."
Then it sank back content on the straw in the basket, and the father seizing the handles of the wheelbarrow pushed clumsily on.