“Your sight, young man, is better than that of most who take this way. The night is stormy: come to my house and tell me what I can do for you.”
Mossy followed him. The waves flew from before the footsteps of the Old Man of the Sea, and Mossy followed upon dry sand.
When they had reached the cave, they sat down and gazed at each other.
Now Mossy was an old man by this time. He looked much older than the Old Man of the Sea, and his feet were very weary.
After looking at him for a moment, the old man took him by the hand and led him into his inner cave. There he helped him to undress, and laid him in the bath. And he saw that one of his hands Mossy did not open.
“What have you in that hand?” he asked.
Mossy opened his hand, and there lay the golden key.
“Ah!” said the old man, “that accounts for your knowing me. And I know the way you have to go.”
“I want to find the country whence the shadows fall,” said Mossy.
“I dare say you do. So do I. But meantime, one thing is certain.—What is that key for, do you think?”
“For a keyhole somewhere. But I don’t know why I keep it. I never could find the keyhole. And I have lived a good while, I believe,” said Mossy, sadly. “I’m not sure that I’m not old. I know my feet ache.”
“Do they?” said the old man, as if he really meant to ask the question; and Mossy, who was still lying in the bath, watched his feet for a moment before he replied—“No, they do not. Perhaps I am not old either.”
“Get up and look at yourself in the water.”