The fierce people that lurked in shadow had eyes for my helplessness. When the dark came I thought I should be dead, devoured of I knew not what wild creature. Would mother never come, never come with saving arms, with eyes like soft candles of home? Then my sobs grew still, for I heard a step. With dread upon me, poor wee lad that I was, I looked to see who came out of the wilderness. It was a man, tall and thin and worn, with long hair hanging adown his face. Pale he was as a moonlit cot on the dark moor, and his voice was low and sweet. When I saw his eyes, I had no fear upon me at all. I saw the mother-look in the gray shadow of them. "And is that you, Art lennavan-mo?" he said, as he stooped and lifted me. I had no fear. The wet was out of my eyes. "What is it you will be listening to, now, my little lad?" he whispered, as he saw me lean, intent, to catch I know not what. "Sure," I said, "I am not for knowing; but I thought I heard a music away down there in the wood." I heard it, for sure. It was a wondrous sweet air, as of one playing the feadan in a dream. Callum Dall, the piper, could give no rarer music than that was; and Callum was a seventh son, and was born in the moonshine. "Will you come with me this night of the nights, little Art?" the man asked me, with his lips touching my brow and giving me rest. "That I will indeed and indeed," I said. And then I fell asleep. When I woke we were in the huntsman's booth that is at the far end of the Shadowy Glen. There was a long rough-hewn table in it, and I stared when I saw bowls and a great jug of milk and a plate heaped with oatcakes, and beside it a brown loaf of rye-bread. "Little Art," said he who carried me, "are you for knowing now who I am?" "You are a prince, I'm thinking," was the shy word that came to my mouth. "Sure, lennav-aghray, that is so. It is called the Prince of Peace I am." "And who is to be eating all this?" I asked. "This is the last supper," the prince said, so low that I could scarce hear; and it seemed to me that he whispered, "for I die daily, and ever ere I die the Twelve break bread with me." It was then I saw that there were six bowls of porridge on the one side and six on the other. "What is your name, O Prince?" "Iosa." "And will you have no other name than that?" "I am called Iosa mac Dhe." "And is it living in this house you are?" "Ay. But Art, my little lad, I will kiss your eyes, and you shall see who sup with me." And with that the prince that was called Iosa kissed me on the eyes, and I saw. "You will never be quite blind again," he whispered, and that is why all the long years of my years I have been glad in my soul. What I saw was a thing strange and wonderful. Twelve men sat at that table, and all had eyes of love upon Iosa. But they were not like any men I had ever seen. Tall and fair and terrible they were, like morning in a desert place; all save one, who was dark, and had a shadow upon him and in his wild eyes.