the face of the smith
almost such as the sons of men might have worn in Genesis when angels
visited them briefly.

They settled down into a steady trot and trotted thus for three hours.
Noon came, and still there was no rest for Morano, but only dust and
the monotonous sight of the road, on which his eyes were fixed: nearly
an hour more passed, and at last he saw his master halt and turn round
in his saddle.

"Dinner," Rodriguez said.

All Morano's weariness vanished: it was the hour of the frying-pan once
more.

They had done more than twenty-one miles from the house of Gonzalez.
Nimbly enough, in his joy at feeling the ground again, Morano ran and
gathered sticks from the bushes. And soon he had a fire, and a thin
column of grey smoke going up from it that to him was always home.

When the frying-pan warmed and lard sizzled, when the smell of bacon
mingled with the smoke, then Morano was where all wise men and all
unwise try to be, and where some of one or the other some times come
for awhile, by unthought paths and are gone again; for that smoky,
mixed odour was happiness.

Not for long men and horses rested, for soon Rodriguez' ambition was
drawing him down the road again, of which he knew that there remained
to be travelled over two hundred miles in Spain, and how much beyond
that he knew not, nor greatly cared, for beyond the frontier of Spain
he believed there lay the dim, desired country of romance where roads
were long no more and no rain fell. They mounted again and pushed on
for this country. Not a village they saw but that Morano hoped that
here his affliction would end and that he would dismount and rest; and
always Rodriguez rode on and Morano followed, and with a barking of
dogs they were gone and the village rested behind them. For many an
hour their slow trot carried them on; and Morano, clutching the saddle
with worn arms, already was close to despair, when Rodriguez halted in
a little village at evening before an inn. They had done their fifty
miles from the house of Gonzalez, and even a little more.

Morano rolled from his horse and beat on the small green door. Mine
host came out and eyed them, preening the point of his beard; and
Rodriguez sat his horse and looked at him. They had not the welcome
here that Gonzalez gave them; but there was a room to spare for
Rodriguez, and Morano was promised what he asked for, straw; and there
was shelter to be had for the horses. It was all the travell