It was uncommon to an astonishing degree.

Presley's vivid imagination chose to see in it the face of an ascetic, of a recluse, almost that of a young seer.

So must have appeared the half-inspired shepherds of the Hebraic legends, the younger prophets of Israel, dwellers in the wilderness, beholders of visions, having their existence in a continual dream, talkers with God, gifted with strange powers.
Suddenly, at some twenty paces distant from the approaching shepherd, Presley stopped short, his eyes riveted upon the other.
"Vanamee!" he exclaimed.
The shepherd smiled and came forward, holding out his hands, saying, "I thought it was you.

When I saw you come over the hill, I called you." "But not with your voice," returned Presley.

"I knew that some one wanted me.