'Nice little farm,' replied the wayfarer, briefly. 'Upalong in that
direction'--he nodded northwards. 'Never mind about it. I had
everything I could want--everything I had any right to expect of life,
and more; and here I am! Glad to be here all the same, though, glad
to be here! So many miles further on the road, so many hours nearer
to my heart's desire!'
His shining eyes held fast to the horizon, and he seemed to be
listening for some sound that was wanting from that inland acreage,
vocal as it was with the cheerful music of pasturage and farmyard.
'You are not one of US,' said the Water Rat, 'nor yet a farmer; nor
even, I should judge, of this country.'
'Right,' replied the stranger. 'I'm a seafaring rat, I am, and the
port I originally hail from is Constantinople, though I'm a sort of a
foreigner there too, in a manner of speaking. You will have heard of
Constantinople, friend? A fair city, and an ancient and glorious one.
And you may have heard, too, of Sigurd, King of Norway, and how he
sailed thither with sixty ships, and how he and his men rode up
through streets all canopied in their honour with purple and gold; and
how the Emperor and Empress came down and banqueted with him on board
his ship.
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