"It may be. I knew a man once who said he leaned upon two crutches, philosophy and religion. When one broke under him he threw his whole weight on the other—and lo! that gave way."
"Then he went down, I suppose."
"I never heard the end—but if it wasn't quite so dark, you would find me really covered with confusion. I have not only brought you a good mile out of your road, but I am now prepared to rob you of your light. Can you possibly find your way home in the dark?"
As she looked up, the lantern shone in his face, and she saw that he wore a whimsical smile.
"I have been in the dark all my life," he answered, "until to- night."
"Until to-night?"
"Until now—this very minute. For the first time for ten years I begin to see my road at this instant—to see where I have been walking all along."
"And where did it lead you?"
He laughed at the seriousness in her voice.
"Through a muck-heap—in the steps of my own cattle. I am sunk over the neck in it already."