And when the day came that he had set for his departure, there was much sorrow, so that the Wanderer tarried longer. And again and again was the day put off until he had sojourned with them a full twelfth-month. The day of his coming they named for a holy day and the year of that day they celebrated with feasting and thanksgiving, for now few of them were not fair.
But on the evening of that day the Wanderer fell ill; and he called about him those who had been chiefly his companions, and said, I am to die. But they cried aloud that it could not be; that they whom he had comforted would comfort him also; that as he had ministered unto them so would they to him. Of a surety, they said, he would live to be strong again and, in the fullness of time, see age come with honor.
But he answered, I am to die. I am to die, he said, and turned his face quietly to the wall, quietly as of one who had finished a good task and was content.
Thereupon they besought him to tell them what they might do to save him, to which of his gods they might pray and offer sacrifice. And he turned and answered. Of all earthly things, best loved I friends and companionship. These ye have given me in abundance. Yet am I to die; for surely ye have known all this while, as ye turned me from my journey and led me through the gates of your city, as ye gave me of the bread and wine, as ye visited me and comforted me daily with friendliness; surely ye knew as ye begged the secret of my comeliness and bade me lay my hands upon thy brow, thy cheek, your lips and your strong limbs, surely ye knew: I am a leper.
XIX
TOBOGGANING
NED MORRIS’ behavior toward Gorgas underwent a decided change. His tone grew discreet and secretive and intimate; he seemed forever smirking, as if charged with unexpressed humor, the possessor of a private joke.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” he would whisper his greeting, although it might be evening.
And she would look up from her work with equal appreciation of the common jest and remark, “Merry Christmas, pretty boy,” but go on with her work.
When others were present he gave no sign, but so soon as the two were alone he hovered near, playing the open swain, but purely a dramatic rôle. It was very amusing. Gorgas liked the drama and the spirit in which it was played.
As she hammered he would sing an air from the new Robin Hood, “Churning, churning, churning, all the live-long day,” and act beautifully the tipsy sheriff of Nottingham. Or he would plead with mock mournfulness, “Oh, promise me that some day you and I will take our love together ’neath some sky,” and so forth.