With his strong hand he firmly presses mine, evidently regarding my gesture as challenging him to promise.

“Very well then⁠ ⁠… it can be done!” says he, quite unexpectedly, and in a joyous and resolute tone.

“Do you really promise?” say I, surprised.

“Well, of course! I promise,” he says, nodding his head and smiling slightly.

The quiet tone of his voice, and his serious, attentive face, show that he is not joking, but that he is really making a promise he means to keep.

Old age or illness, or both together, has made me very ready to cry when I am touched with joy. The simple words of that kindly, firm, strong man, so evidently ready for all that is good, and standing so alone, touch me so that sobs rise to my throat, and I step aside, unable to utter a word.

After going a few steps, I regain control of myself, and turn to him and say (I have already asked his name):