listen to them and they turned to the old man. But by signs, he showed
them that his tongue was dead, and finally, with suppressed remarks
upon the exceeding misfortune of the pair, they, too, disappeared. A
thoughtful one invited them to return to the village. Laodice,
careless now of what he should think of his exposure to pestilence,
told him bluntly that they were unclean. Hastily he exclaimed at the
sum of their troubles, hastily blessed them, and hastily departed.

There was a pallor along the under-rim of the east; the wind freshened
with the sweet vigor of early morning.

Over the stunned silence came the sound of the infinite trotting of
tiny hooves and a high, wild, youthful yell. Laodice, too worn to
observe, sat still; but Momus, with a rush of old fairy-tales in mind,
sprang to her side and seized her arm. His alarmed eyes searched the
dark landscape for whatever visitation it had to reveal.

There was the rush of countless hoof-beats and a low cloud of dust
obscured the crest of the hill just above them. The soft tremolo of
multitudinous bleating came out of it. The quick excited bark of a
fresh Natolian sheep-dog wakened an echo in one of the ravines through
a hill on the opposite side of the road, while strong and insistent
and happy the young cry preceded this sudden animation in the
wilderness.

There was a fall of gravel on the slope over their heads and the next
instant a fourteen-year-old boy descended upon the pair in a fall of
earth, his sandaled feet planted one ahead of the other, his bare arms
thrown above his head as he balanced himself, his long, stiff,
crinkled black locks blowing backward, his face bright with the eager