Six, seven, eight years went by; and Oman was no longer young. Yet his appearance was still not that of a man. His face was without any trace of beard; nor was his expression one borne by world-dwellers. His eyes glowed with an inward fire. There were certain lines about his mouth and eyes that gave his features the droop of constant melancholy. His form was tall and gaunt; but his fine skin was still untoughened by exposure to sun and wind. Save for a cloth about the loins, he now went unclothed, unconscious of nakedness, exposed to no observing eyes. His muscles stood well up on his lean body, for he was a tiller of the soil. In his whole life there on the mountain he had never known one day’s sickness; nor did it occur to him to consider health in the light of good or evil. His solitude had effect on him in infinite ways; but he kept himself from forgetting speech by frequently talking aloud. His thoughts, however, were not at all those of men. He made companions out of the natural objects round him, and regarded the phenomena of nature as beautiful scenes in which he himself had a part. He called greetings to the rising sun and to the moon, which looked on him with jovial, distorted face. Wild creatures that lived in the lower woods—bears, small, burrowing animals, even snakes, moved near him without fear and without any threat of battle. During his long residence in the open, he had never knowingly injured a single sentient thing; and for this his reward came in the shape of companionship with the wild. The tenth year of his mountain solitude had passed, when, suddenly, all things were changed for him. In some mysterious way, how, cannot be explained, for the rumor could have had no other origin than the wind, it was spread among the scattering mountain villages that, on the summit of the Silver Peak, there dwelt a Chelah, or hermit, of great holiness and wonderful powers. And thereupon pilgrimages thither began. The meeting of Oman and the first stranger that penetrated his solitude was unique. It was more than ten years since Oman had looked upon the face of one of his kind or heard the sound of any voice other than his own. He had for a long time felt neither need nor desire for companionship; and his mind had become quite deadened to the necessity of reëntering the world. One afternoon, returning from a short walk down the eastern slope after fruit, he found himself face to face with a man, standing near the entrance of his cave, who, seeing him, began to prostrate himself rapidly. Oman stopped perfectly still, looking at him with wonderment in his face. After a while, seeing that the holy one did not speak, the man began: