all
kinds of seamen."

I said yes, the sea was wide.

"England now, at the present moment?" he said, and questioned me as to
Bristol, of which port he had trader's knowledge. I answered out of a
book I had read. It was true that, living once by the sea, I knew how to
handle a boat. I could find in memory sailors' terms. But still he said,
"You are not a seaman such as we see at Palos and San Lucar."

It is often best not to halt denial. Let it pass by and wander among the
wild grasses!

"I myself," he said presently, "have gone by sea to Vigo and to
Bordeaux." He warmed his hands at the fire, then clasped them about his
knees and gazed into the night. "What, Juan Lepe, is that Ocean we look
upon when we look west? I mean, where does it go? What does it strike?"

"India, belike. And Cathay. To-day all men believe the earth to be
round."

"A long way!" he said. "O Sancta Maria! All that water!"

"We do not have to drink it."

He laughed. "No! Nor sail it. But after I had been on that voyage I
could see us always like mice running close to a wall, forever and
forever! Juan Lepe, we are little and timid!"

I liked his spirit. "One day we shall be lions and eagles and bold
prophets! Then our tongue shall taste much beside India and Cathay!"

"Well, I hope it," he said. "Mice running under the headlands."

He fell silent, cherishing his knees and staring into the fire. It was
not Juan Lepe's place to talk when master merchant talked not. I, too,
regarded the fire, and the herded mountains robed in night, and the
half-moon like a sail rising from an invisible boat.

The night went peacefully by. It was followed by a hard day's travel
and the incident of the road. At evening we saw the walls of Zarafa in a
sunset glory. The merchants and their train passed through the gate and
found their customary inn. With others, Juan Lepe worked hard, unlading
and storing. All done, he and the bully slept almost in each other's
arms, under the arches of the court, dreamlessly.

The next day and the next were still days of labor. It was not until
the third that Juan Lepe considered that he might now absent himself and
there be raised no hue and cry after strong shoulders. He had earned his
quittance, and in the nighttime, upon his hands and knees, he crept from
the sleepers in the court. Just before dawn the inn gate swung open. He
had been waiting close to it, and he passed out noiselessly.

In the two days, carrying goods