To sleep, to wake and find the moon still dreaming, to see the moon's
dream in the water, to sleep again and wake, so--till the dawn. Such
was my night under the old yews, the first spent with these southern
stars on a long vagabondage.


II

How different was last night, how full of weariness after heavy
tramping through leagues of loose stones. I had been tramping from
desolate Cape Pitsoonda over miles and miles of sea holly and scrub
through a district where were no people. I had been living on
crab-apples and sugar the whole day, for I could get no provisions.
It is a comic diet. I should have liked to climb up inland to find
a resting-place and seek out houses, but I was committed to the
seashore, for the cliffs were sheer, and where the rivers made what
might have been a passage, the forest tangles were so barbed that they
would tear the clothes off one's back. In many places the sea washed
the cliffs and I had to undress in order to get past. It was with
resignation that I gave up my day's tramping and sought refuge for the
night in a deep and shapely cavern.

There was plenty of dry clean sand on the floor, and there was a
natural rock pillow. I spread out my blanket and lay at length,
looking out to the sea. I lay so near the waves that at high tide I
could have touched the foam with my staff. I watched the sun go down
and felt pleased that I had given up my quest of houses and food until
the morrow. As I lay so leisurely watching the sun, it occurred to me
that there was no reason why man should not give up quests when he