đ A Tangled Tale (day 1)
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joi, 16 mai, 01:53 (acum 3 zile)
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A Tangled Tale
Knot I
Excelsior
âGoblin, lead them up and down.â
The ruddy glow of sunset was already fading into the sombre shadows of night, when two travellers might have been observed swiftlyâ âat a pace of six miles in the hourâ âdescending the rugged side of a mountain; the younger bounding from crag to crag with the agility of a fawn, while his companion, whose aged limbs seemed ill at ease in the heavy chain armour habitually worn by tourists in that district, toiled on painfully at his side.
As is always the case under such circumstances, the younger knight was the first to break the silence.
âA goodly pace, I trow!â he exclaimed. âWe sped not thus in the ascent!â
âGoodly, indeed!â the other echoed with a groan. âWe clomb it but at three miles in the hour.â
âAnd on the dead level our pace isâ â?â the younger suggested; for he was weak in statistics, and left all such details to his aged companion.
âFour miles in the hour,â the other wearily replied. âNot an ounce more,â he added, with that love of metaphor so common in old age, âand not a farthing less!â
âââTwas three hours past high noon when we left our hostelry,â the young man said, musingly. âWe shall scarce be back by suppertime. Perchance mine host will roundly deny us all food!â
âHe will chide our tardy return,â was the grave reply, âand such a rebuke will be meet.â
âA brave conceit!â cried the other, with a merry laugh. âAnd should we bid him bring us yet another course, I trow his answer will be tart!â
âWe shall but get our deserts,â sighed the elder knight, who had never seen a joke in his life, and was somewhat displeased at his companionâs untimely levity. âââTwill be nine of the clock,â he added in an undertone, âby the time we regain our hostelry. Full many a mile shall we have plodded this day!â
âHow many? How many?â cried the eager youth, ever athirst for knowledge.
The old man was silent.
âTell me,â he answered, after a momentâs thought, âwhat time it was when we stood together on yonder peak. Not exact to the minute!â he added hastily, reading a protest in the young manâs face. âAnâ thy guess be within one poor half-hour of the mark, âtis all I ask of thy motherâs son! Then will I tell thee, true to the last inch, how far we shall have trudged betwixt three and nine of the clock.â
A groan was the young manâs only reply; while his convulsed features and the deep wrinkles that chased each other across his manly brow, revealed the abyss of arithmetical agony into which one chance question had plunged him.
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