Cuthbert introduced him to Edward Goldsmith, and Tod held out a bony hand.
"Glad to meet you," he said. "You're just in time for tea. You'll have to share a mug, but there's lots of bread and jam."
He was thinner than ever, but he had the same old trick of tossing his hair back from his eyes; and his eyes were as bright and gay and piercing as if they had just come back from some magic wash. While they were eating, he sipped his tea and filled his pipe and went on singing:
What did the gipsies do there?
They built a tomb for Pharaoh,
They built a tomb for Pharaoh,
So tall it touched the sky.
They buried him deep inside it,
Then let what would betide it,
They saddled their lean-ribbed ponies
And left him there to die.
He nodded his head toward the sides of the quarry, the overhanging trees, and the hill beyond.
"And this is where they've left me," he said.
Cuthbert stared at him.
"But you're not going to die, are you?"
"Pretty soon," said Tod. He tapped his chest. "There's not much left, you know, in this old box of mine."
"Well, you don't seem to mind much," said Edward.