"And four is eighteen--and--four--is, eighteen." The last was very much drawled.

Slowly the pencil slipped from his fingers, and the slate followed it into the sand.

For a while he lay motionless, then began muttering to himself, folded his little arms, laid his head down upon them, and might have been asleep, but for the muttering sound that from time to time proceeded from him.

A curious old ewe came to sniff at him; but it was long before he raised his head.
When he did, he looked at the far-off hills with his heavy eyes.
"Ye shall receive--ye shall receive--shall, shall, shall," he muttered.
He sat up then.

Slowly the dulness and heaviness melted from his face; it became radiant.