“Give me your blessing, Father!”
The hermit blessed him gently as he had blessed the elk. “The Lord protect you, child! What is your name?”
“Tichon.”
“Tichon! Tichon is a word of peace. Whence come you? This place is but a desert and little known. It’s seldom we see pilgrims.”
“We were going to Serdobal from Ládoga,” answered Tichon, “when our vessel was driven by the storm to this island. I went into the wood yesterday and lost my way.”
“Did you spend the night in the wood?”
“Yes, in the wood.”
“Have you had any food? You must be hungry?”
The piece of bread Tichon had had with him he had eaten the night before. He was hungry now.
“Come to the cell, Tichon, I will share with you what God has sent me.”