The lad came and stood in the doorway, gazing round curiously, while the
old man sat down and looked at him, moved, he knew not why.

The bright steel of Felion's axe, standing in the corner, caught the
lad's eye and held it. Felion saw, and said: "What are you thinking of?"

The lad answered: "Of the axe. When I'm bigger I will cut down trees and
build a house, a bridge, and a city. Aren't you coming quick to help my
mother? She will die if you don't come."

Felion did not answer, and from the trees without two women watched him
anxiously.

"Why should I come?" asked Felion curiously. "Because she's sick, and
she's my mother."

"Why should I do it because she's your mother?"

"I don't know," the lad answered, and his brow knitted in the attempt to
think it out, "but I like you." He came and stood beside the old man and
looked into his face with a pleasant confidence. "If your mother was
sick, and I could heal her, I would--I know I would--I wouldn't be afraid
to go down into the village."

Here were rebuke, love, and impeachment, all in one, and the old man half
started from his seat.

"Did you think I was afraid?" he asked of the boy, as simply as might a
child of a child, so near are children and wise men in their thoughts.