Peter had some dog-biscuits soaked in milk, and likewise devoured such scraps of bacon as were left. He fared badly in this respect, as Dan scraped the platter clean. Simon partook of oats and hay, after which he returned to his grazing. The grass was succulent, and Simon hungry, so he wished for nothing better than to be left alone.
After breakfast, Dan washed up his crockery and cutlery, then lighted his beloved pipe. At peace with himself and the whole world, he sat by the fire and put Peter through a few tricks. Peter objected, and retreated with his tail--or what was called by courtesy his tail--between his legs; so, failing to find further diversion, Dan got out his diary.
"I'm afraid this doesn't look like a cheap-jack," said he, sharpening a pencil; "they don't keep diaries, as a rule. There are many things to be set down this morning: Mother Jericho's visit, her prophecy and its fulfilment at the Gates of Dawn. I would I were an artist, to sketch that face. Talk about the Madonna type! Ah me!"
He sighed as a tribute to the absent beauty, and busied himself in writing up the events of the last two days. Beyond the noting of a few facts, he had nothing whatever to write about. Such thoughts as he had were not worth committing to paper. And what, indeed, is the use of a healthy young man setting down immature fancies? Youth can write poetry, which is purely inspirational; but not novels or essays, both of which imply a long experience of human nature. Up to the age of thirty, unless gifted with the faculty of observance, youth is too interested in itself to concern itself with other people. It certainly troubles about the gentler sex, but they defy analysis, and he is a bold man who limns you a portrait in pen and ink with the remark, "This is a woman I once knew." Did you meet the original, you would find her vastly different. Women have as many sides to their characters as a diamond has facets, and never show the same side twice to one person. In such "weathercockisms"--to coin a word--lies their greatest charm.
This is all very well, but has nothing to do with Dan in his camp. It were wiser not to digress, but to keep to the subject-matter in hand. Therefore to return to Dan and his scribbling. He wrote down his adventures, tried to recollect the words of Aurora's song, and finally, dropping pencil and book, fell to meditating on her beauty. In truth, he could think of nothing else.
Now, the question is, Was he in love? Impossible! He knew nothing of the girl, he did not even know her name, so it was impossible that love could be born of a brief glance. Even Romeo's passion for Juliet had the advantage of a few hurried words. No! Dan was not in love, yet he felt strange sensations in the region of the heart when that face floated cherub-fashion--i.e. without body--before his mind's eye. Perhaps this was because the words of the red-cloaked sibyl had predisposed him to take special notice of the girl, and think of her as a possible factor in his life. Was she indeed his fate? He determined to question Mother Jericho closely the next time he saw her.
What with writing and idling and smoking, the morning passed very quickly, and the sun, pouring its rays vertically on the dell, warned him that it was noon. At that time Mother Jericho had promised that he should receive a visitor, so Dan packed away his diary and kept a sharp look-out on the road. Meanwhile he felt too restless to sit still, and walked up and down the limited area of the hollow.
Who he was, and what he was, and why he came to be camping in so solitary a place, will be told in due course. At present you can see that he is merely a rover of thirty, bent upon making holiday and getting the best out of life. What his name is matters not at present. He chose to call himself Dan, which is short for Daniel, but the name did not suit him in the least. He looked quite unlike a Daniel. There is a fitness in names as in other things.
The promised visitor did not arrive at the appointed hour, and Dan became impatient. He had longing thoughts in the direction of his midday meal, and, indeed, was about to see after it, when Peter's sharp bark announced the approach of the expected visitor. It was not Mother Jericho, but a tall and powerfully built man.
He strode boldly down the road and into the dell. Dan made a step forward to greet him, but the other drew back and looked at him carefully. Apparently the stranger was satisfied with his scrutiny, for he advanced with smile and outstretched hand. Not knowing whether to be pleased or angry, Dan gave his own reluctantly.