“There,” said he, “take me where ye will. To bonnie Elf-land, if that’s your road, where withered leaves are gold.”
Jan ran round willingly to take the hand of his new friend. He felt a strange attraction towards him. His speech was puzzling and had a tone of mockery, but his face was unmistakably kind.
“Now then, lad, which path do we go by?” said he.
“There’s only one,” said Jan, gazing up at the old man, as if by very staring with his black eyes he could come to understand him. But in an instant he was spouting again, holding Jan before him with one hand, whilst he used the other as a sort of bâton to his speech:—
“And know’st thou not yon broad, broad road
That lies across the lily levin?
That is the path of sinfulness,
Though some think it the way to heaven.”
“Go on, please!” Jan cried, as the old man paused. His rugged speech seemed plainer in the lines it suited so well, and a touch of enthusiasm in his voice increased the charm.
“And know’st thou not that narrow path
So thick beset with thorns and briars?
It is the path of righteousness,
And after it but few aspires.“And know’st thou not the little path
That winds about the ferny brae?
That is the road to bonnie Elf-land,
Where thou and I this night maun gae.”
“Where is it?” said Jan, earnestly. “Is’t a town?”
The old man laughed. “I’m thinking it would be well to let that path be, in your company. We’d hardly get out under a year and a day.”
“I’d go—with you,” said Jan, confidently. Many an expedition had he undertaken on his own responsibility, and why not this?