II
It was two weeks to the day that Robin received his letter.
* * * * *
He had never before been so long in utter solitude; for the visits of
David did not break it; and, for other men, he saw none except a
hog-herd or two in the distance once or twice. The shepherd came but
once a day, carrying a great jug and a parcel of food, and set them down
without the hut; he seemed to avoid even looking within; but merely took
the empty jug of the day before and went away again. He was an old, bent
man, with a face like a limestone cliff, grey and weather-beaten; he
lived half the year up here in the wild Peak country, caring for a few
sheep, and going down to the village not more than once or twice a week.
There was a little spring welling up in a hollow not fifty yards away
from the hut, which itself stood in a deep, natural rift among the high
hills, so that men might search for it a lifetime and not come across
it.
Robin's daily round was very simple. He had leave to make a fire by day,
but he must extinguish it at night lest its glow should be seen, so he
began his morning by mixing a little oatmeal, and then preparing his
dinner. About noon, so near as he could judge by the sun, he dined;
sometimes off a partridge or rabbit; on Fridays off half a dozen tiny
trout; and set aside part of the cold food for supper; he had one good
loaf of nearly black bread every day, and the single jug of small beer.
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