One day, while walking along a narrow path used by the wood-cutters, he met an old, old woman. Her dress was brown and made of a coarse homespun. A large basket strapped to her back was filled with pieces of firewood which she had been gathering. When she saw David she called to him. And as he approached her he noticed how beautiful she was; for, although her clothes were ragged, that mattered little—her face seemed more kind and beautiful than any he had ever seen. Her hair—one lock had fallen from beneath the brown cap that she wore—was white as driven snow. Her eyes were the soft colour of oak leaves in winter, and so filled with gentleness that David could only stand and look at her.
“Can you tell me,” she asked in a voice that sounded like a breath of wind stirring through the pine needles, “can you tell me where I can find a bit of water? I have been all day in the woods and have found no spring or brook; and I am thirsty, so thirsty! for a drink of pure, cool mountain water.”
“Yes!” cried David. “There is a beautiful spring not far from here. I will get some of the water for you. Rest here in the shade till I return: it will take me but a few moments.”
As he spoke he lifted her basket, that she might the more easily slip her arms through the leathern straps that served to hold it in place upon her back. She swung her clumsy burden to the ground and thanked him; and as soon as he saw her comfortably seated on a bed of moss beneath a sheltering tree, he hastened on his way towards the spring.
As he walked along he took out his hunting knife. For first he must find a birch tree: he wanted some of its white bark to make a cup in which to carry the water. Soon he came to a beautiful great tree. Cutting a clean wide strip of bark, he shaped it into a bowl-like receptacle. Next he pinned the edges together with twigs, so whittled to a point that they would pierce the bark and hold it in place. Then, hastening to the spring, he filled the birchen cup to overflowing with the clear, cool crystal water. In a few moments he stood before the old woman again and handed her the dripping cup. She took it, drank deeply, and was refreshed.
David gazed upon her. There was something about her that he could not explain; nor could he explain to himself his strange longing to talk to her. She looked up at him and smiled; then she motioned to him to sit down on the moss beside her. David did so.
“Do you live in these woods?” he asked timidly. “I do not remember ever having seen you before.”
“No,” answered the old woman. “My house is a long, long way from here—yet not so very far away, either, if only one is wise enough to follow the trail and not seek any short cuts.”
“Does the trail we are on lead to your home?” asked David, pointing to the woodpath that stretched away before them, seeming to lose itself far in the distance.
“Yes and no,” answered the old woman. “It leads you there if you know how to follow it—but there are many turnings, and some of them will lead you right and some of them will lead you wrong. It is not always easy to know which one to take, and if you choose the wrong one it will lead you far astray.”