After Garret had quieted the dog, he remained gazing for a few minutes at this steady light, and then (he scarcely knew why) he crept up very softly towards the little cabin, and looked in at the orifice.
The sight that he saw aroused his quickened interest.

The place was very small--only large enough to contain a few sacks of straw for the bed, over which a couple of fleeces had been thrown by way of covering, a small rough table, on which a rush light stood, together with a few wooden platters, a loaf of bread, and a pitcher.

A box was the only seat, and upon it sat a grizzled, bent old man, with his back towards the window, and his head bent low over the table.
By shifting his position very slightly, Garret was able to see that he was bending over a book which lay open beneath the rush light, and that with his forefinger he was pointing slowly along the line.
Garret held his breath in astonishment.

In towns, at this time, would be found here and there a humble artisan or labouring man who could read, and amongst such the desire for the printed Scriptures was always keen and ardent.

But out here in these lonely wilds, far away from the haunts of man, it was a strange sight to see an old shepherd with a book before him.