Bagga entered with some food. She wore a bandage over one eye.
“What is it, child?—have you hurt yourself?” asked the mother anxiously.
Bagga blushed hotly, set down the plates, and tore away the handkerchief from her head, laughing nervously.
The others laughed too—it was easy to see what the girl had been doing.
“I forgot to take it off,” she explained shyly. “It’s not so very bad, after all, to have only one eye.”
“Better to have two,” said Guest the One-eyed. “More especially if they are as blue and as good as yours.” And he looked at her with a kindly smile.
Bagga was still embarrassed; she glanced anxiously at the visitor, and asked: “You are not angry with me?”
He patted her arm. “How could I be? After you have given me leave to call you Bagga?”
“When you go away from here, I will go with you all the way to the next place. I am strong, and I can carry your sack for you.”
“That’s kind of you. And I shall not be angry with you, not even if you fasten a stick to one leg just to see what it feels like to be lame!”