“Do you live here always?” asked Barnabas.
“I have lived here,” said the old man, “for thirty years. Up till the age of forty I travelled far. Then I came here to peace—my thoughts, my flowers, and my books. I have a few friends who come to see me, and they are always welcome.”
He mentioned three or four names. Among them Barnabas recognized the name of a famous statesmen and a well-known singer.
The Indian returned with a tray, on which was a dish of strawberries, some wafer biscuits, a glass of milk, and two empty tumblers, and three small decanters, which he placed on a table.
The old man helped Pippa to strawberries and gave her the glass of milk. Then from the three decanters he mixed a drink for Barnabas and himself.
“Excellent!” said Barnabas as he tasted it.
“My own brewing,” said the old man.
While they ate the fruit he talked to them of his travels. Each little narrative he told was well-turned and concise, the language he chose was poetical.
All at once he got up and went into an inner room. He came back with the most exquisite little Russian icon. He gave it to Pippa.
“Will you have it,” he asked, “in memory of your visit here?”