They embraced each other, weeping, and slowly the Wapiya girls went back until the rocky promontory hid them from sight. Then Yillin dashed her tears away.
"Come, my sisters!" she cried.
They took hands and danced together towards the wall of rock that loomed before them, black, unbroken, forbidding. Yillin was at the end, and as she reached the rock she raised her Wona, or digging-stick, and struck the rock. It split open, and they danced through the cleft. Before them was no more the Sea, but a green country dotted with trees, and covered with thick grass. A little way from them was a low mound, towards which they danced. As they drew near, they saw that some one was sitting on it—a very old man, whose silver beard swept below his feet. He sat motionless, save that his hands were always busy, pulling the long silver hairs from his beard and twisting them into a cord.
"It is the old man we met long ago!" whispered the sisters.
Somehow, the fear that they had felt when they met him with the Wapiya girls was upon them no longer: and the little dog Dulderana, who had fled from him howling, now ran up to him gaily, frisking round him. The old man put out his hand and fondled him, and Dulderana snuggled against him; then, nestling down with his head on his fore-paws, he looked at Yillin as if to say, "This is my master."
Yillin understood the look in his eyes.
"Do you like him, Master?" she asked. "We bring him to you as a gift."
"That is a good gift," said the old man, looking much pleased. "And you are welcome, my children. I think that this time I have not met you too soon. Are you weary with all your wanderings?"
"No, we are never weary," said Yillin. "We have danced, and hunted, and bathed, and sung; and we have forgotten all our sorrows. Our father, Wonkawala, bade us come east, and we obeyed him."
"And so you found friends and happiness," said the old man. "Sit down, and tell me of all that you have seen."