Returning, he found
the dogs cowering with fear, for one of them had pushed the cloth off the
dead man's face with his nose, and death exercised its weird dominion
over them. They crouched together, whining and tugging at the traces.
With a persuasive word he started them away.
The pursuing, watchful figure followed at a distance, on up the road, on
over the little hills, on into the high hills, the dogs carrying along
steadily the grisly load. And once their driver halted them, and sat in
the grey gloom and dust beside the dead body.
"Where do you go, dwarf?" he said.
"I go to the Ancient House," he made answer to himself.
"What do you get?"
"I do not go to get; I go to give."
"What do you go to give?"
"I go to leave an empty basket at the door, and the lantern that the
Shopkeeper set in the hand of the pedlar."
"Who is the pedlar, hunchback?"
"The pedlar is he that carries the pack on his back."
"What carries he in the pack?"
"He carries what the Shopkeeper gave him--for he had no money and no
choice."
"Who is the Shopkeeper, dwarf?"
"The Shopkeeper--the Shopkeeper is the father of dwarfs and angels and
children--and fools."
"What does he sell, poor man?"
"He sells harness for men and cattle, and you give your lives for the
harness."
"What is this you carry, dwarf?"
"I carry home the harness of a soul."
"Is it worth carrying home?"
"The eyes grow sick at sight of the old harness in the way.
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