“‘Take as much as you need,’ he said.
“But the fire was almost out. There were no branches or brands, only a heap of glowing embers, and the stranger had nothing in which he could put the coals.
“The shepherd saw this and was glad because the man could get no fire. But the stranger stooped down, took the coals from the ashes with his hands, and put them in his cloak. And the coals neither scorched his hands nor singed his cloak. The man carried them away as if they were nuts or apples.”
Here I interrupted a third time, “Grandmother, why wouldn’t the coals burn the man?”
“You will soon hear,” she replied, and went on.
“When the shepherd, who was a sullen, bad-tempered man, saw all these things, he began to wonder: ‘What kind of night is this when the dogs do not bite, the sheep feel no fear, the lance does not kill, and fire does not burn?’ He called to the stranger, asking: ‘Why is it that all things show mercy upon you?’
“‘I cannot tell you if you do not see for yourself,’ said the man, and went away to light the fire for his wife and child.
“But the shepherd wanted to find out what all this meant, so he followed him and discovered that the man did not even have a hut to live in, only a sort of cavern with bare stone walls.
“The shepherd thought the poor little child might be chilled, and though he was a harsh man, he pitied and wanted to help it. So he gave the stranger a soft white sheepskin, and told him to put the child in it.
“But the very moment he showed that he, too, could be merciful, his eyes were opened and he saw and heard what he had neither seen nor heard before.