I've tried my hand with most kinds of devil. Are
you a Roman?"
"Half," he was told, and, guessing which half, asked no more questions.
"You are pretty well done, I can see," he said. "You want more food. You
want warm water, and a bed, and a dressing for your feet. You've been on
the road too long."
The stranger was huddled by the fire, probing his wounded feet. "I'm cut
to pieces," he said. "I've been over stubbles and flint. This is a cruel
country."
"It's the sweetest in the world," Senhouse told him, "when you know your
way about it. When you have the hang of it you need not touch the roads.
You smell out the hedgerows, and every borstal leads you out on to the
grass. But I'll own that there are thistles. I wear sandals myself. Now,"
he continued, ladling out of his pot with a wooden spoon, "here's your
porridge, and there are bread and salt; and here water, and here goat's
milk. Afterwards you shall have a pipe of tobacco, and some tea. Best
begin while all's hot--and while you eat I'll look to your wounds.
Finally, you shall be washed and clothed."
He went away, returning presently with water and a napkin. Kneeling, he
bathed his guest's feet, wiped them, anointed, then wrapped them up in the
napkin.
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