out his hand for the paper, turned it over and over without making even a pretense of reading it, then grunted, “No English,” and, turning, walked away.
It was an awkward moment for Hugh and a most discouraging one. Apparently he was to get no help here for the continuing of his journey, while the thought of trying to go back, through the dark, in his present weary state was quite too appalling. Almost without thinking, he unbuckled his pack, laid it down on the grass and seated himself at the nearest fire. Two children and an old man moved over to make room for him, yet no one said a word or regarded his presence with the least surprise. Presently a woman, he thought it was Laughing Mary, but in the uncertain light could not make sure, came over and put down some food before him.
He was hungry enough to have eaten anything, but he thought then and long afterward that it was just as well that he should never know of what that savory stew was made. It might be—no, he concluded firmly, he would make no guess
