“Who can say what is the end of life?” asked slow-thoughted Gredel. “Are you not happy?”
“Yes. But there is something more.”
“Do you not love me—your mother?”
“Yes. But still I think—think—think.”
“Love is enough,” said Gredel, who had passed more than half way through life, and was content to rest.
“Then it must be,” said Peterkin, “that I want more than enough.”
“If so, you must be wicked,” remarked Gredel; “for I am at peace in loving you, and you should be content in loving me. What more do you want? You have enough to eat—a warm bed in winter—and your mother who loves you.”
Peterkin shook his head.
“It will rain to-night,” said Gredel; “and you will be warm while many will be shivering in the wet.”
Gredel was quite right; for when the sun had set, and the heavens were all of one dead, sad color, down came the rain, and the inside of the hut looked very warm and comfortable.