As he walked up and down a short beat near his wagon, the shepherd held in his hand a book, which he placed before his eyes with a flourish now, and then with a flourish withdrew it, meantime gesticulating with his empty hand in the most extravagant fashion. His dog, sharper of perception than its master, lay aside from him a little way, its ears pricked up, its sharp nose lifted, sniffing the scent of the stranger. But it gave no alarm. 236
Agnes felt that the man must be harmless, whatever his peculiarities. She rode forward, bent on asking him how far she had strayed from the river. As she drew near, she heard him muttering and declaiming, illustrating his arguments of protestation with clenched fist and tossing head, his long hair lifting from his temples in the wind.
He greeted her respectfully, without sign of perturbation or surprise, as one well accustomed to the society of people above the rank of shepherd.
“My apparent eccentric behavior at the moment when you first saw me, madam, or miss, perhaps, most likely I should say, indeed––”
Agnes nodded, smiling, to confirm his penetration.
“So, as I was saying, my behavior may have led you into doubt of my balance, and the consequent question of your safety in my vicinity,” he continued.
“Nothing of the kind, I assure you,” said she. “I thought you might be a–a divinity student by your dress, or maybe a candidate for the legal profession.”
“Neither,” he disclaimed. “I am a philosopher, and at the moment you first beheld me I was engaged in a heated controversy with Epictetus, whose Discourses I hold in my hand. We are unable to agree on many points, especially upon the point which he assumes that he has made in the discussion of grief. He contends that when one is not blamable for some calamity which bereaves him or strips him of his possessions, grief is unmanly, regret inexcusable. 237
“‘How?’ say I, meeting him foot to foot on the controversy, ‘in case I lose my son, my daughter, my wife–the wife of my soul and heart–shall I not grieve? shall I not be permitted the solace of a tear?’
“And Epictetus: ‘Were you to blame for the disease which cut them off? Did you light the fire which consumed them, or sink the ship which carried them down?’