Morning came, and Osgood went. He was just out of sight of the carriage house when the stranger accosted him on the road. The traveler was holding a strange globe. He offered it to Osgood, who only stared.
"This Orb is the repository of all the knowledge of a civilization from the stars," the stranger said, which was more than enough to remind Osgood that the man was insane. "It is like an entire library of printed books, all contained in this sphere. The Orb is the only remnant of what they were, and what they knew. It is the most valuable artifact I have ever... that I have ever found."
He had eyes only for the globe, which he still held out to Osgood. "But I cannot stay here. It is yours, if you will take me."
Osgood considered this. The man seemed harmless enough. It was clear that he was desperate to reach Pugwash even though his reasons were mad; and if Osgood humored his delusion he could help the man, and then refuse to take the globe once they'd arrived. It pleased him to think of such a generous act.
So they struck a bargain. The stranger wrapped the globe carefully and laid it in the bed of the cart. He climbed onto the seat with Osgood, and they drove on toward Pugwash.
The Sun climbed over the hills and - like Osgood's pleasure in his own act of charity - it warmed the quiet travelers. The long road stretched out before them. Osgood tried to draw his companion into conversation but this proved to be difficult: the clockmaker, on the one hand, didn't want to encourage the stranger's delusions, and the stranger himself was lost in his own thoughts, which seemed to be of a morose and resigned variety.
Osgood exhausted the subject of the weather. From time to time he would point out landmarks, describing their history, and the stranger would nod absently. Toward midday Osgood began to tell the stranger his own story of orphanage and apprenticeship and his mastery of the craft of clockwor
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