For a moment I wondered that he should thus fly me; but I staggered to his hut, and I remember seeing his rush-made bed, and that is all.

When I woke again, at first I thought myself back in the dungeon, and groaned, but would not open my eyes.  But I turned uneasily, and then a small voice spoke, saying: 

“Ho, Grendel! are you awake?”

I sat up and looked round.  Then I knew where I was—­but I had slept a great sleep, for out of the open door I saw the Quantock hills, blue across the moor, and the sun shone in almost level.  It was late afternoon.

I looked for him who had spoken, and at first could see no one, for the sun shone in my face:  but something stirred in a corner, and I looked there.

It was a small sturdy boy of some ten years old, red haired, and freckled all over where his woollen jerkin and leather hose did not cover him.  He sat on a stool and stared at me with round eyes.

I stared back at him for a minute, and then, from habit, for I would always play with children, made a wry face at him, at which he smiled, pleased enough, and said: 

“Spit fire, good Grendel, I want to see.”

Now I was glad to be kept off my own fierce thoughts for a little, and so answered him back, wondering at the name he gave me, and at his request.

“So—­I am Grendel, am I?”

“Aye,” said the urchin, “Dudda Collier ran into village in the night, saying that you had come out of the fen, all fire from head to foot, and so he fled.  But I came to see.”

“Where is the collier then?”

“He dare not come back, he says, without the priest, and has gone to get the hermit.  So the other folk bided till he came too.”

“Were not you afraid of me?”

“Maybe I was feared at first—­but I would see you spit fire before the holy man drives you away.  So I looked in through a crack, and saw you asleep.  Then I feared not, and bided your waking for a little time.”

“What is your name, brave urchin?’ I asked, for I was pleased with the child and his fearlessness.

“Turkil,” he said.

“Well, Turkil—­I am not Grendel.  He fled when I came in here.”

“Did you beat him?” asked the boy, with a sort of disappointment.

“Nay; but he disappeared when the hot coals went out,” I said.  “And now I am hungry, can you find me aught to eat?” and, indeed, rested as I was with the long sleep, I had waked sound in mind and body again, and longed for food, and I think that finding this strange child here to turn my thoughts into a wholesome channel, when first they began to stir in me, was a mercy that I must ever be thankful for.

Turkil got up solemnly and went to the hearth.  Thence he took an iron cauldron, and hoisted it on the great round of tree trunk that served as table in the midst of the hut.

“Dudda Collier left his supper when he fled.  Wherefore if we eat it he will think Grendel got it—­and no blame to us,” remarked the boy, chuckling.