“That’s exactly what I thought,” was Gale’s sober reply.
At that the fat little man must have thought of the soldiers who could “Tear down this temple and carry it to China.”
“Come!” he exclaimed, dancing about like an excited falcon. “I will guide you down the mountain. Wait I will light a torch. Then we will go.” He was away like a flash.
“What a strange place!” Isabelle whispered.
“We could stay all night. He said that.” Gale smiled mischievously. “These monks are really very hospitable.”
“Never! Never!” Isabelle exclaimed.
When each had told the other her experiences, they were well agreed that their club was a glorious place to be.
And then the gnomelike monk was at their side again. Holding a flaming pine knot torch high, he urged them to follow him.
They truly needed no urging. And so, with the little man hopping on ahead and the flaming torch making black giants of all the great trees, they found their way down the mountainside.
When they reached the first house at the foot of the hill, as if afraid of being seen, the little monk cast his torch on the ground, dashed out the flames—then vanished into the night.