Then, rounding a bend of the river, he came suddenly upon the tiny homestead, a cluster of small buildings on a little piece of rising ground. A thin smoke rose from a chimney—that must be from the open hearth in the kitchen. The ground outside was marked by heaps of hay, in regular rows; a solitary horse was grazing on the hillside, and a few sheep nosed about among the rocks down by the river.
For some minutes he stood looking over the place. So this was where the two women passed their quiet lives. Mother and daughter, living for some reason apart from their neighbours. The old wanderer knew well enough that it was often not the worst of human kind that chose to live aloof from their fellows.
As he approached the house, a dog ran out barking angrily. Immediately after, a young woman appeared. At first sight of the strange figure coming towards her, she turned as if to go indoors again, but changed her mind and advanced to meet him.
“Here is one who is tired,” said she. “Can I help you, old man?”
And she took his arm.
“Thanks, blessed child,” said the old man, with a smile.
The girl looked up at his face.
“Oh—you have only one eye!” she exclaimed.
“Yes,” answered the stranger, with a chuckle. “Worms couldn’t wait for it. They’ll have the other one soon, and the rest of me with it.”
“You should not talk like that,” said the girl, with childish displeasure.