"You're main old, but ye must put yer best foot foremost all the same.

We've more'n an hour's trampin' up hill an' down dale, an' the dew's beginnin' to fall.

Keep goin' slow an' steady--I'll give ye a hand." For a moment Helmsley hesitated.

This shaggy, rough, uncouth herb-gatherer evidently regarded him as very feeble and helpless, and, out of a latent kindliness of nature, wished to protect him and see him to some safe shelter for the night.

Nevertheless, he hated the position.
Old as he knew himself to be, he resented being pitied for his age, while his mind was yet so vigorous and his heart felt still so warm and young.