First Traveller: What's that lying in the dust?
Second Traveller: A crooked stick.
First Traveller: What's it worth, if you can trust
— — To arithmetic?
Second Traveller: Isn't this a riddle?
First Traveller: No, a trick.
Second Traveller: It's worthless. Leave it where it lies.
First Traveller: Wait; count ten;
— — Rub a little dust upon your eyes;
— — Now, look again.
Second Traveller: Well, and what the devil is it, then?
First Traveller: It's the sort of crooked stick that shepherds know.
Second Traveller: Someone's loss!
First Traveller: Bend it, and you make of it a bow.
— — Break it, a cross.
Second Traveller: But it's all grown over with moss!