Gerda asked me softly what was amiss, and I told her in a few words.

The old hermit looked kindly at her, but did not speak.
"Tell him of your home," she said.

"Tell him without saying aught of the end of it." I did so, slowly at first, for the words would not come, and then better as I went on.

The old man listened, and the tears came into his eyes.
"Ah, the old days," he said, when I stopped.

"Your voice is a voice from the days that are gone, and the old tongue comes back to me, with the sound of the piper on the hill and the harper in the hall, with the sough of the summer wind in the fir trees, and the lash of the waves on the rocks.