will go yonder."

Lewis explained to the stranger. He glanced at the old woman.

"Old Immortality has brains," he said. "Might have known it, with those
eyes."

They sat on the floor of beaten earth. The old woman went out. Through
the gaps in the walls Lewis saw her build a fire and put a pot of the
brackish water on to boil. Then he saw her drag the setting hen from her
nest and wring its neck. He jumped up and rushed out.

"What are you doing?" he cried. "Why kill a setting hen?"

"Aye," said the old woman, "it is a pity, for she is the last chicken in
the world."

Lewis and the stranger were hungry. Night was falling. There was no sign
of their belated pack-train. When boiling had done its utmost, they ate
the last chicken on earth. Before they had finished, a child, pitifully
thin, came in, bearing on her head a small jar of water.

"Now drink," said the old woman, "for this water came from the river,
twelve miles away."

They drank, then the stranger set his helmet on the floor for a pillow,
laid his head upon it, and slept. Lewis sat beside him. The child had
curled up in a corner. The guide was snoring outside. In the doorway the
old woman crouched and crooned.

Presently she turned and peered into the house. She beckoned to Lewis.
He rose and followed her. She led him around the house, through a
thicket of thorn-trees, and up the slope of a small sand-dune. Toward
the west sand-dunes rose and fell in monotonous succession.

At the top of the dune the old woman crouched on her heels and motioned
to Lewis to sit.

"My son," she said, "thou hast taken my carcass for the common clay of
these parts. I cannot blame thee, but had I the water to wash this
cursed dust from my face and hands, I would show thee a skin that was
stained at birth with the olive and veins whose blood flows unmixed
through generations without end. These wrinkled feet have flattened the
face of the earth bit by bit. Bear witness those who left me here behind
to die! My eyes have looked upon things seen and unseen. I am old. To
youth is given folly; to the old, wisdom. To-night my wisdom shall
suckle thy folly, for the heavens have shown me a sign."

Lewis stared at the old woman with wondering eyes. He had never seen a
Gipsy. What was she? he asked himself. No native. The native's mind was
keen with knowledge of horses, cattle, and goats, but stolid, almost
stupid, when it came to words and thoughts. There was an exception--the
m