“You have come to just the right person,” said the old man, resting his weight upon the great bundle of sticks, which he had lowered to the ground beside him. “I can tell you much about the Pale-Coloured Horse, for I know the crystal spring where he comes to drink every third night, and the great green meadow where he comes to feed when the spring nights grow warm and the tender grass begins to send forth its delicate stalks.”
“Tell me, tell me!” cried David eagerly. “Direct me to the path that leads to the spring and to the meadow.”
“Why are you so anxious to capture the Wingèd Horse?”
“Because I must save Ruth! She is held a prisoner in the Bronze King’s Palace. There is no telling what may happen to her! I am no powerful prince with an army of foot-soldiers and horsemen, else I would invade the Bronze King’s country with a mighty host. I am a poor wood-cutter’s son. If I can capture this wonderful Horse, I can save Ruth. It is the only means I have, so you see I must capture him!”
“How will the Wingèd Horse help you?”
“How?” repeated David. “I can sit upon its back, tame and subdue it, so that it will know me for its master; then ride upon it to the Palace and fly down into the Garden where Ruth is permitted to walk—the royal Garden surrounded by the high red wall with the iron pickets on the top. There Ruth can spring upon the Horse beside me, and the splendid creature can carry us up into the air, up, away, safe from the Bronze King, his terrible Palace, and his great chained Lions.”
“Has he Lions, too?” asked the wood-cutter.
“Yes,” said David, “a dozen of them, chained outside the Palace.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I have seen them and walked through their midst.”