From his dusky swallow's hole high up in that vast wall of native rock he could peer out through the arrow-slit and see his own home off yonder in the valley; and for twenty-two years he had watched it, with heartache and longing, through that crack.

He could see the lights shine there at night, and in the daytime he could see figures go in and come out--his wife and children, some of them, no doubt, though he could not make out at that distance.

In the course of years he noted festivities there, and tried to rejoice, and wondered if they were weddings or what they might be.

And he noted funerals; and they wrung his heart.

He could make out the coffin, but he could not determine its size, and so could not tell whether it was wife or child.