It was fine weather for walking and the middle-aged man and the young man kept pace with each other, stride for stride.
By and by they drank from a brook and then ate together.

The priest also carried a knapsack under his heavy brown overcoat and they shared their food, finishing it with a sip or two from a flask of light wine.
"We come to a crossroad a mile further on," said the priest, "and there I think we will part.

I turn into the crossroad, and you, I take it, keep the road to Stuttgart." "I shall be sorry." "The way of the world, my son.

All through life we are meeting and parting.

The number of people who travel with us all the road is very small.