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Hans Peter dropped his burden and, imitating the stranger, removed from a shock of straw-colored hair a cap mended with red yarn. The boy wore baggy trousers of blue denim buttoned to a blouse of the same material. The man smiled as he looked at the odd figure.

“Do you hear me, Hans Peter? There is a quarter in my pocket for you. I will find two quarters if you walk faster. Do you know what I say to you?”

The boy replaced his cap, nodded his head, and answered, with a German accent:

“Thou art talking to the simple one, the village fool, sir. But Hans Peter knows thou wouldst give him silver.”

It was the first time that the boy had spoken since the station agent had called him by name and told him to show the stranger to the inn in the village of Zanah, just across the hill. The man gave his guide a sharp look. Hans Peter had a round face that was as blank as if no human emotion had ever been written upon it. His pale eyes had a sleepy look, and yet there was nothing in their expression to indicate lack of intelligence.