It was the ancient clock-mender across the way.

The mountaineer was startled out of his habitual reserve, but he recovered his composure almost instantly.

The clock-mender, his heavy glasses hanging crookedly on his nose, his whole aspect that of a weary, broken man, took down his pail and shuffled noiselessly out.

The mountaineer followed him cautiously.

Once in his shop the clock-mender poured the steaming soup into a bowl, broke bread in it, and began his evening meal.