"It was a birch-broom. I see the marks of it."

We climbed the hill side by side; it did not seem at all strange at
the time. When we reached the summit, the sun was setting in fullest
glory, and we were silent. Suddenly he cried:

"Let us be fire-worshippers! There is more of God in that great
light than in all the gospels of mankind."

"What a queer, comforting thing," said I, "to hear from a stranger
in a wood."

It struck me afterwards that perhaps I, too, had said a queer thing;
but we seemed to understand each other. Presently we sat down again,
and he talked to me about the Parsees; he appears to know a great
deal about them.

We narrowly escaped a second run downhill; again the wind seized my
hat, but he nimbly caught it on the wing.

"Why don't you do as I do?" he asked, passing his fingers through
his hair. "It's a great mistake to wear a hat, especially if one has
a turn for trespassing."

"Who tells you," laughed I then, "that I am trespassing? For aught
you know, this may be my own ground."

The young man looked at me curiously.