“He was coming. She knew him for The Guest from afar. The neighbours’ house was already dimmed, but the stranger was clear, so that she knew he had passed their door. She ran forth to meet him, and no one called to her from behind. It seemed all made for her--the evening so sweet and vast and perfect. One of her little loose shoes came off as she hurried, but she did not stop. The single one made her running clumsy, so she kicked that free too. He must not think she was a little lame girl.... He was farther than she thought; she had never come so far alone in the evening. And yet how clearly she could see him.... “He must be very tired, for sometimes he was on one side of the road, and sometimes on the other. He was quite old, and his step unsteady, yet he carried his cane and did not use it.... His head was uncovered. Now she knew why his steps were so unsteady. He was looking upward as he walked--upward and around quite joyously, the glow of the sky upon his white beard and hair--so that he did not see her coming, and her bare feet were silent on the road. “She felt very little as she touched his cane. “‘Won’t you come to our house to rest? Oh, please----’ “‘Yes, yes,’ he answered, but did not look down. “‘Our house is near--won’t you come?’ she asked again, and turning, she was surprised how far it was, but not afraid, and no one called to her. “‘Oh, yes,’ he answered. “‘But I am down here----’ “‘Bless me--are you?’ “He did not seem to see her very well, but tried to follow her voice, his eyes looking past her, and to the side, his great hands groping for her gently. Olga spoke again and touched his hands. Then he really saw her, and she sighed with relief, because his eyes filled with the gentlest love she had ever seen--seemed to rest upon her and enclose her at the same time. The gladdest smile of welcome had come to his face. Both her hands were in his groping ones, but now she turned and led him. There was silence as they walked, and Olga asked: “‘But what were you looking for--you were looking up, you know?’ “‘Was I, dear?’ “‘Yes, and what were you looking for?’ “‘I was looking for my mother,’ he said. “Olga thought how old she must be, and she wanted to cry.... _Her_ mother made the stranger very welcome, and her father stood back against the wall smiling in a way that she always remembered, and without lighting his pipe until after the stranger had finished his meal. There was golden butter and the dark bread that is the life of the peasants, a pitcher of fresh milk and a bite of that cheese which is brought forth only on Sundays or holidays. They pressed him to eat more, saying that he must be in need of food after his journey, but it was very little that he really took. He smiled and looked with peace from face to face, but Olga had pulled her stool back into the shadows, for she did not wish to intrude. He had not seen so much of the others.