InatownofthesteppeswhereIfoundlifeexceedinglydull，thebestandthebrightestspotwasthecemetery。OftendidIusetowalkthere，andonceithappenedthatIfellasleeponsomethick，rich，sweet-smellinggrassinacradle-likehollowbetweentwotombs。
FromthatsleepIwasawakenedwiththesoundofblowsbeingstruckagainstthegroundnearmyhead。Theconcussionofthemjarredmenotalittle，astheearthquiveredandtinkledlikeabell。Raisingmyselftoasittingposture，Ifoundsleepstillsoheavyuponmethatatfirstmyeyesremainedblindedwithunfathomabledarkness，andcouldnotdiscernwhatthematterwas。TheonlythingthatIcouldseeamidthegoldenglareoftheJunesunlightwasawaveringblurwhichatintervalsseemedtoadheretoagreycross，andtomakeitgiveforthasuccessionofsoftcreaks。
Presently，however——againstmywish，indeed——thatwaveringblurresolveditselfintoalittle，elderlyman。Sharp-featured，withathick，silverytuftofhairbeneathhisunderlip，andabushywhitemoustachecurledinmilitaryfashion，onhisupper，hewasusingthecrossasameansofsupportas，withhisdisengagedhandoutstretched，andsawingtheair，hedughisfootrepeatedlyintotheground，and，ashedidso，bestoweduponmesundrydry，covertglancesfromthedepthsofapairofdarkeyes。
“Whathaveyougotthere？“Iinquired。
“Asnake，“herepliedinaneducatedbassvoice，andwitharuggedforefingerhepointeddownwards；whereuponIperceivedthatwrigglingonthepathathisfeetandconvulsivelywhiskingitstail，therewasanechidna。