Nature seemed to me benign and good; I thought she loved me, outcast as I was; and I, who from man could anticipate only mistrust, rejection, insult, clung to her with filial fondness.

To-night, at least, I would be her guest, as I was her child: my mother would lodge me without money and without price.

I had one morsel of bread yet: the remnant of a roll I had bought in a town we passed through at noon with a stray penny--my last coin.

I saw ripe bilberries gleaming here and there, like jet beads in the heath: I gathered a handful and ate them with the bread.

My hunger, sharp before, was, if not satisfied, appeased by this hermit's meal.