In his left hand was a small book with a finger marking the place.

Slowly he repeated-- As when a Gryphon through the wilderness With winged step, o'er hill and moory dale Pursues the Arimaspian.
He jumped round as my step rung on the keystone, and I saw a pleasant sunburnt boyish face.
'Good evening to you,' he said gravely.

'It's a fine night for the road.' The smell of peat smoke and of some savoury roast floated to me from the house.
'Is that place an inn ?' I asked.
'At your service,' he said politely.

'I am the landlord, Sir, and I hope you will stay the night, for to tell you the truth I have had no company for a week.' I pulled myself up on the parapet of the bridge and filled my pipe.

I began to detect an ally.
'You're young to be an innkeeper,' I said.
'My father died a year ago and left me the business.