The Goldsmith and the Stone Pg. 2

As the Goldsmith walked towards the quiet town, the sun was setting. Two passerby’s looked the newcomer over. “That’s the one I was talking to you about,” one said to the other. They both looked at him as one spoke directly to the Goldsmith passing by. “There ain’t nothin in that mine, mister. You may as well go back to that fancy city you came from. Nothin at all,” was all he said.

The Goldsmith could have been annoyed, but he simply smiled a kind smile and said a friendly, “Good evening” as he was lead to his new temporary home, located on a small dirt road at the corner side of town.

His acquaintance handed him his key, shook his hand once again with a curious, if not puzzled look on his face, waved and carried on down the dirt road, to his own abode.

The Goldsmith opened the creaky door, finding a humble room, a bed, a small wood stove for cooking and a table with a lit lamp that cast a cozy light, falling softly onto the wooden floor.

A welcoming loaf of bread, home made cheese and wine were placed in the corner of the table, from the wife of the owner of his now cabin.

The long and weary ride into the mountains now over, the Goldsmith felt a small anxious tug at his heart. He put down his few belongings and sat down at the table. The night now settled in, he opened his bag and pulled out the maps he had studied so long.

His eyes soon becoming heavy, forced him to make his way to the small single bed in the corner of the room. The lantern now turned off, meant he had to make his way by feel as the room was filled with the darkness of night. He crawled under the covers dressed with an old quilt that was supplied, and nodded off as a barking dog was all that could be heard in the far distance.