he caught up to Lyaeus they were walking among twining wraiths of
mist rose-shot from a rim of the sun that poked up behind hills of
bright madder purple. A sudden cold wind-gust whined across the plain,
making the mist writhe in a delirium of crumbling shapes. Ahead of them
casting gigantic blue shadows over the furrowed fields rode a man on a
donkey and a man on a horse. It was a grey sway-backed horse that
joggled in a little trot with much switching of a ragged tail; its
rider wore a curious peaked cap and sat straight and lean in the
saddle. Over one shoulder rested a long bamboo pole that in the
exaggerating sunlight cast a shadow like the shadow of a lance. The man
on the donkey was shaped like a dumpling and rode with his toes turned
out.

Telemachus and Lyaeus walked behind them a long while without catching
up, staring curiously after these two silent riders.

Eventually getting as far as the tails of the horse and the donkey,
they called out: "_Buenos dias_."

There turned to greet them a red, round face, full of little lines like
an over-ripe tomato and a long bloodless face drawn into a point at the
chin by a grizzled beard.

"How early you are, gentlemen," said the tall man on the grey horse.
His voice was deep and sepulchral, with an occasional flutter of
tenderness like a glint of light in a black river.

"Late," said Lyaeus. "We come from Madrid on foot."

The dumpling man crossed himself.

"They are mad," he said to his companion.

"That," said the man on the grey horse, "is always the answer of
ignorance when confronted with the unusual. These gentlemen undoubtedly
have very good reason for doing as they do; and besides the night is
the time for long strides and deep thoughts, is it not, gentlemen? The
habit of vigil is one we sorely need in this distracted modern world.
If more men walked and thought the night through there would be less
miseries under the sun."

"But, such a cold night!" exclaimed the dumpling man.

"On colder nights than this I have seen children asleep in doorways in
the streets of Madrid."

"Is there much poverty in these parts? asked Telemachus stiffly,
wanting to show that he too had the social consciousness.

"There are people--thousands--who from the day they are born till the
day they die never have enough to eat."

"They have wine," said Lyaeus.

"One little cup on Sundays, and they are so starved that it makes them
as drunk as if it were a hogshead."