The smoother places became rarer, however, and The Man found himself alone many times, till one day he was joined by a new companion.
“He will be like the others,” said The Man bitterly: “he will not stay with me.”
But the other heard him. “Do not fear,” he answered, “I will stay with you to the journey’s end. I will never leave you.”
Nevertheless, The Man did not like his new companion. He was not like the others. He never jested and made merry, and after that first time he did not speak again. He was gaunt and thin, and was clothed in rags; but he stayed with The Man when the others ran on ahead or lagged behind.
One day when The Man was weary, for there was no longer any one to cheer him, and the way had become very hard, he plucked up courage to speak to his silent companion again.
“’Tis true you do not leave me like the rest,” he said; “they all deserted me when we left the pleasant country; but I do not know you yet. If we must travel together we should get better acquainted.”
“Mine is not a pleasant name, and few care to know me better than necessity compels,” answered the Silent One; “but had you waited a little longer you would not have needed to ask. I am known by many names, but those who know me best call me Poverty.”
The Man picked himself up from where he had thrown himself to rest, and hurried on, trying to leave his companion behind. But the one in rags followed close, and when The Man stumbled and fell, exhausted by his exertions, the other was just at his heels.
And about this time The Man noticed that a third wayfarer had joined them. He could not see the new comer’s face, however, for he always kept a little way behind; and there seemed to be a kind of shroud-like hood over his head.
There were no longer any easy stretches in the road, and The Man moved slowly. Many times he stumbled and fell, and each time it was longer before he rose again. He wondered, but dared not ask the name of the new arrival who had moved nearer, and was now but a few steps behind.