Marco explained and the old woman listened attentively.  When The Rat got up and swung himself about up and down the steep path near her house she seemed relieved.  His extraordinary dexterity and firm swiftness evidently amazed her and gave her a confidence she had not felt at first.

“If he has taught himself to be like that just for love of your father, he will go to the end,” she said.  “It is more than one could believe, that a pair of crutches could do such things.”

The Rat was pacified and could afterwards give himself up to watching her as closely as he wished to.  He was soon “working out” certain things in his mind.  What he watched was her way of watching Marco.  It was as if she were fascinated and could not keep her eyes from him.  She told them stories about the mountains and the strangers who came to climb with guides or to hunt.  She told them about the storms, which sometimes seemed about to put an end to the little world among the crags.  She described the winter when the snow buried them and the strong ones were forced to dig out the weak and some lived for days under the masses of soft whiteness, glad to keep their cows or goats in their rooms that they might share the warmth of their bodies.  The villages were forced to be good neighbors to each other, for the man who was not ready to dig out a hidden chimney or buried door to-day might be left to freeze and starve in his snow tomb next week.  Through the worst part of the winter no creature from the world below could make way to them to find out whether they were all dead or alive.

While she talked, she watched Marco as if she were always asking herself some question about him.  The Rat was sure that she liked him and greatly admired his strong body and good looks.  It was not necessary for him to carry himself slouchingly in her presence and he looked glowing and noble.  There was a sort of reverence in her manner when she spoke to him.  She reminded him of Lazarus more than once.  When she gave them their evening meal, she insisted on waiting on him with a certain respectful ceremony.  She would not sit at table with him, and The Rat began to realize that she felt that he himself should be standing to serve him.

“She thinks I ought to stand behind your chair as Lazarus stands behind your father’s,” he said to Marco.  “Perhaps an aide ought to do it.  Shall I?  I believe it would please her.”

“A Bearer of the Sign is not a royal person,” answered Marco.  “My father would not like it—­and I should not.  We are only two boys.”

It was very wonderful when, after their supper was over, they all three sat together before the fire.

The red glow of the bed of wood-coal and the orange yellow of the flame from the big logs filled the room with warm light, which made a mellow background for the figure of the old woman as she sat in her low chair and told them more and more enthralling stories.