The man of the keen brown eyes and the faded garb fared on.

He plucked a rose from a wayside bush and carried the flower in his
hand.

"Your sister just passed this way," he informed the rose in whimsical
fashion. "I don't suppose you and I will ever catch up with her. I go
very slowly, but you may journey along with me."




II

A HOME-MADE KNIGHT-ERRANT

The wayfarer who called himself Farr came down the long hill and turned
the corner of the highway where the alders crowded to the banks of the
narrow brook; they whispered to one another as the breeze fluttered
their leaves. He drank there, bending and scooping the water in his
palm. He bathed the rose and stroked its wilted petals.

"Too bad, little one!" he said. "The long road is a killing proposition,
and I'm afraid I had no business inviting you to go with me. Your sister
must be a long way ahead of us."

The rocks were cool where the alders cast shade, and he sat there for
a little while, watching the drift of tiny flotsam down the eddying
current and observing the skipper-bugs skating over the still shallows
on their spraddled legs.