She opened her arms wide and swept the air with them.

"Anywhere. Along the water, until I find something to do."

"I cannot do much," she added, after a pause. "I am little, and no
one has taught me. But I can cut grass and card wool."

"The grass season is short, and the wool season is far off. Why did
you not stay in your village?"

She was mute. She did not know why she had left it, she had come away
down the mountainside on a wandering instinct, with a vague idea of
finding something better the farther she went: her father had always
come back with silver pieces in his pocket after his stay down there
in those lands which she had never seen, lying as they did down far
below under the golden haze of what seemed an immeasurable distance.

"Are you not hungry?" said the fisher.

"I am always hungry," she said, with some astonishment at so simple a
question. "I have been hungry ever since I can remember. We all were
up there. Sometimes even the grass was too dried up to eat. Father
used to bring home with him a sack of maize; it was better so long as
that lasted."

"Are you hungry now?"

"Of course."

"Come to my house with me. We will feed you. Come. Have no fear. I am