in the late afternoon, the child ceased his play on the mountain with his flocks and his dogs. part of the battle had whirled very near to the base of his hill, and the noise was great. sometimes he could see fantastic smoky shapes which resembled the curious figures in foam which one sees on the slant of a rough sea. the plain indeed was etched in white circles and whirligigs like the slope of a colossal wave. the child took seat on a stone and contemplated the fight. he was beginning to be astonished; he had never before seen cattle herded with such uproar. lines of flame flashed out here and there. it was mystery.
finally, without any preliminary indication, he began to weep. if the men struggling on the plain had had time and greater vision, they could have seen this strange tiny figure seated on a boulder, surveying them while the tears streamed. it was as simple as some powerful symbol.
as the magic clear light of day amid the mountains dimmed the distances, and the plain shone as a pallid blue cloth marked by the red threads of the firing, the child arose and moved off to the unwelcoming door of his home. he called softly for his mother, and complained of his hunger in the familiar formula. the pearl-coloured cow, grinding her jaws thoughtfully, stared at him with her large eyes. the peaceful gloom of evening was slowly draping the hills.
the child heard a rattle of loose stones on the hillside, and facing the sound, saw a moment later a man drag himself up to the crest of the hill and fall panting. forgetting his mother and his hunger, filled with calm interest, the child walked forward and stood over the heaving form. his eyes too were now large and inscrutably wise and sad like those of the animal in the house.
after a silence he spoke inquiringly. "are you a man?"
peza rolled over quickly and gazed up into the fearless cherubic countenance. he did not attempt to reply. he breathed as if life was about to leave his body. he was covered with dust; his face had been cut in some way, and his cheek was ribboned with blood. all the spick of his former appearance had vanished in a general dishevelment, in which he resembled a creature that had been flung to and fro, up and down, by cliffs and prairies during an earthquake. he rolled his eye glassily at the child.
they remained thus until the child repeated his words. "are you a man?"
peza gasped in the manner of a fish. palsied, windless, and abject, he confronted the primitive courage, the sovereign child, the brother of the mountains, the sky and the sea, and he knew that the definition of his misery could be written on a grass-blade.
