"About seventy," declared Vinzi.
"So that's what you think? Why, I was seventy more than twenty odd years ago! I was young at that age. It was no trouble to carry a heavy load on my back down into the valley, and to carry a new load up. But I can't do that any more, and the young folks want me to do nothing more than to keep peace among the boys at the Tower during the summer. During the day they are with the herd, but they all come back to the Tower in the evening, and order has to be kept among them. Someone has to be in command; otherwise things would go awry.
"During the day I sit here in the sunshine and have time to thank our dear God for everything he has done for me in my lifetime. Since I passed my ninetieth birthday, I don't count the years any more. I take each lovely day as one of God's beautiful gifts and in the evening look up to Heaven and say from the bottom of my heart, 'I thank Thee for this day, good Father in Heaven; I thank Thee!' And when my time comes to go, it will not be far. Just look up and see what a short flight for me to be there. That is why I love it on this mountain; it is so near to Heaven and I can look out into the distance. One's thoughts go upwards and that makes both life and death happy things."
Vinzi was sorry when he ceased speaking, for he would have liked to learn much more about him.
"What are you thinking about?" asked the old man after a short silence.
"I was wishing you would tell me how you get along in winter when the herd boys have gone home. Do you dwell in the Tower all alone, or do you have to go away, when you could be so happy here?" said Vinzi.
"I have not gone down into the valley for the last ten years, and I am glad I do not have to," said the old man, drawing in a deep breath of the mountain air. "I could not stand the heavy air or the crowds. Neither do I live alone in the Tower, for I have good friends here, the monks in the hospice. You know where stands the hospice, don't you?"
"No," replied Vinzi, "and I don't even know what a hospice is."
"It is a kind house," explained the old man. "Travelers who can go no farther on account of the deep snow and the bitter cold are taken in there. Sometimes travelers who are half frozen lie down. Then the good monks in the hospice take them indoors to the warm fire and strengthen them with food and drink so they can continue on their journey. They are my kind friends, those monks; and when the boys travel off home with the herd in the autumn, I go to live at the hospice. It is not far, just above there; you can see it now."
"Oh, I remember it!" exclaimed Vinzi, as he recalled the great stone house on the road.