The sky showed a dull blue between hurrying banks of cloud. The farmer yawned, and observed carelessly, “It’s cold in the mornings now. Come in; there will be coffee ready soon.”
Guest the One-eyed went into the cowshed, washed himself at the drinking-trough, and dried his face and hands on his coat, the farmer watching him the while.
“You’re one for cleanliness, I see,” he said. “I never trouble to wash myself, these cold mornings.”
The wanderer produced a piece of comb, and tidied his hair and beard; it was a matter of some difficulty to get rid of the scraps of hay.
“Why not stay here for the day and have a good rest?” suggested the farmer. And with a sly glance he added: “I daresay we can afford to give you a bite of food.”
“I thank you. But I must go on.”
“Ay, there’s always haste with those that have nothing to do,” said the farmer, with a touch of malice.
He walked down a little way with his guest, some of the farm hands accompanying them. The wanderer bade farewell to each in turn, and all answered with a blessing. Then they turned back, the farmer alone going on a few steps more.
“Have you not some good word to leave with me?” he asked a little awkwardly.
Guest the One-eyed looked at the man from head to foot; the burly fellow stood as timidly before him as a child that had done wrong.