‘Pelagia! do you know what philosophising is?’
‘No—and I don’t care.’
‘I do,’ quoth Agilmund, with a look of superior wisdom; ‘I saw a philosopher the other day.’
‘And what sort of a thing was it?’
‘I’ll tell you. I was walking down the great street there, going to the harbour; and I saw a crowd of boys—men they call them here—going into a large doorway. So I asked one of them what was doing, and the fellow, instead of answering me, pointed at my legs, and set all the other monkeys laughing. So I boxed his ears, and he tumbled down.’
‘They all do so here, if you box their ears,’ said the Amal meditatively, as if he had bit upon a great inductive law.
‘Ah,’ said Pelagia, looking up with her most winning smile, ‘they are not such giants as you, who make a poor little woman feel like a gazelle in a lion’s paw!’
‘Well—it struck me that, as I spoke in Gothic, the boy might not have understood me, being a Greek. So I walked in at the door, to save questions, and see for myself. And there a fellow held out his hand—I suppose for money, So I gave him two or three gold pieces, and a box on the ear, at which he tumbled down, of course, but seemed very well satisfied. So I walked in.’
‘And what did you see?’
‘A great hall, large enough for a thousand heroes, full of these Egyptian rascals scribbling with pencils on tablets. And at the farther end of it the most beautiful woman I ever saw—with right fair hair and blue eyes, talking, talking—I could not understand it; but the donkey-riders seemed to think it very fine; for they went on looking first at her, and then at their tablets, gaping like frogs in drought. And, certainly, she looked as fair as the sun, and talked like an Alruna-wife. Not that I knew what it was about, but one can see somehow, you know.—So I fell asleep; and when I woke, and came out, I met some one who understood me, and he told me that it was the famous maiden, the great philosopher. And that’s what I know about philosophy.’