It was late afternoon.
I looked for him who had spoken, and at first could see no one, for the sun shone in my face: but something stirred in a corner, and I looked there.
It was a small sturdy boy of some ten years old, red haired, and freckled all over where his woollen jerkin and leather hose did not cover him.

He sat on a stool and stared at me with round eyes.
I stared back at him for a minute, and then, from habit, for I would always play with children, made a wry face at him, at which he smiled, pleased enough, and said: "Spit fire, good Grendel, I want to see." Now I was glad to be kept off my own fierce thoughts for a little, and so answered him back, wondering at the name he gave me, and at his request.
"So--I am Grendel, am I ?" "Aye," said the urchin, "Dudda Collier ran into village in the night, saying that you had come out of the fen, all fire from head to foot, and so he fled.

But I came to see." "Where is the collier then ?" "He dare not come back, he says, without the priest, and has gone to get the hermit.

So the other folk bided till he came too." "Were not you afraid of me ?" "Maybe I was feared at first--but I would see you spit fire before the holy man drives you away.

So I looked in through a crack, and saw you asleep.