“‘And is it the way down the Strath you are seeking?’ I asked: ‘and will you not be coming up to the house yonder, poor cot though it is, and have a sup of milk, and a rest if it’s weary you are?’
“‘You are having my thanks for that,’ he said, ‘and it is as though I had both the good rest and the cool sweet drink. But I am following the flowing water here.’
“‘Is it for the fishing?’ I asked.
“‘I am a Fisher,’ he said, and the voice of him was low and sad. He had no hat on his head, and the light that streamed through a rowan-tree was in his long hair. He had the pity of the poor in his sorrowful gray eyes.
“‘And will you not sleep with us?’ I asked again: ‘that is, if you have no place to go to, and are a stranger in this country, as I am thinking you are; for I have never had sight of you in the home-straths before.’
“‘I am a stranger,’ he said, ‘and I have no home, and my father’s house is a great way off.’
“‘Do not tell me, poor man,’ I said gently, for fear of the pain, ‘do not tell me if you would fain not; but it is glad I will be if you will give me the name you have.’
“‘My name is Mac-an-t’-Saoir,’ he answered with the quiet deep gaze that was his. And with that he bowed his head, and went on his way, brooding deep.
“Well, it was with a heavy heart I turned, and went back through the bracken. A heavy heart, for sure, and yet, oh peace too, cool dews of peace. And the fawn was there: healed, Alasdair, healed, and whinny-bleating for its doe, that stood on a rock wi’ lifted hoof an’ stared down the glen to where the Fisher was.
“When I was at the burnside, a woman came down the brae. She was fair to see, but the tears were upon her.