She rubbed her eyes to look again. No, she was not mistaken. Two objects rested on that rock, one white as snow, the other dark and gleaming.
“Well,” she sighed, “have to see.”
Creeping from the warm blankets, she stepped on the cold, damp floor of night. “Oo!” she shuddered. Next instant her hands closed on the mysterious objects.
“How—how strange!” She shuddered again, but not from the cold, then beat a hasty retreat.
Inside the tent, she turned the objects over in her hands. One was a large roll of bandages, the other a bottle of liniment.
“Who—” she whispered, “who can that have been?”
The answer came to her instantly. “The one who lowered the rope into the copper mine. And, perhaps, the one who plays the violin so gloriously. And who is he?” Here was a question she could not answer.
“‘Take, eat,’” she whispered the words of a half forgotten poem.
“Take, eat, he said, and be content.
These fishes in your stead were sent