ers needed.

Children peered at the strangers, gossips peeped out of doors to gather
material concerning them, dogs noted their coming, the eyes of the
little village watched them curiously, but Rodriguez and Morano passed
into the house unheeding; and past those two tired men the mellow
evening glided by like a dream. Tired though Rodriguez was he noticed a
certain politeness in mine host while he waited at supper, which had
not been noticeable when he had first received him, and rightly put
this down to some talk of Morano's; but he did not guess that Morano
had opened wide blue eyes and, babbling to his host, had guilelessly
told him that his master a week ago had killed an uncivil inn-keeper.

Scarcely were late birds home before Rodriguez sought his bed, and not
all of them were sleeping before he slept.

Another morning shone, and appeared to Spain, and all at once Rodriguez
was wide awake. It was the eighth day of his wanderings.

When he had breakfasted and paid his due in silver he and Morano
departed, leaving mine host upon his doorstep bowing with an almost
perplexed look on his shrewd face as he took the points of moustachios
and beard lightly in turn between finger and thumb: for we of our day
enter vague details about ourselves in the book downstairs when we stay
at inns, but it was mine host's custom to gather all that with his
sharp eyes. Whatever he gathered, Rodriguez and Morano were gone.

But soon their pace dwindled, the trot slackening and falling to a
walk; soon Rodriguez learned what it is to travel with tired horses. To
Morano riding was merely riding, and the discomforts of that were so
great that he noticed no difference. But to Rodriguez, his continual
hitting and kicking his horse's sides, his dislike of doing it, the
uselessness of it when done, his ambition before and the tired beast
underneath, the body always some yards behind the beckoning spirit,
were as great vexation as a traveller knows. It came to dismounting and
walking miles on foot; even then the horses hung back. They halted an
hour over dinner while the horses grazed and rested, and they returned
to their road refreshed by the magic that was in the frying-pan, but
the horses were no fresher.

When our bodies are slothful and lie heavy, never responding to the
spirit's bright promptings, then we know dullness: and the burden of it
is the graver for hearing our spirits call faintly, as the chains of a
buccaneer in some dee