He was quite fair, a young man still, and dressed after a
manner of his own in garments not at all new but with
a beauty of fashioning and putting on. He and his mule
looked a corner out of a great painting. And I had no
sooner thought that than he said, "I see in you, friend, a
face and figure for my `Draught of Fishes.' And by Saint
Christopher, there is water over yonder and just the landscape!"
He leaned from the saddle and spoke persuasively,
"Come from the road a bit down to the water and let me
draw you! You are not dressed like the kin of Midas! I
will give you the price of dinner." As he talked he drew out
of a richly worked bag a book of paper and pencils.
I thought, "This beard and the clothes of Juan Lepe. He
can hardly make it so that any may recognize." It was resting
time and the man attracted. I agreed, if he would take
no more than an hour.

"The drawing, no!--Bent far over, gathering the net
strongly--Andrew or Mark perhaps, since, traditionally,
John must have youth."

He had continued to study me all this time, and now we
left the road and moved over the plain to the stream that
here widened into a pool fringed with rushes and a few
twisted trees. An ancient, half-sunken boat drowsing under
the bank he hailed again in the name of Saint Christopher.
Dismounting, he fastened his mule to a willow and proceeded
to place me, then himself found a root of a tree,
and taking out his knife fell to sharpening pencil. This done,
he rested book against knee and began to draw.