Young Math - he meets the old man

There was a boy who was a very funny boy.  He was always laughing and making everybody laugh with him.  His face was always smiling and his voice was always warm and even on the grayest day people felt good when he was around.  He could go through the town and collect treats from shop keepers and people running their daily errands in exchange for jokes and antics.  The boy had no father or mother, so all the town took care of him.

Then one day, an old man came to town.  He was gray and wrinkled and smelled of vinegar.  All the townspeople were suspicious and didn't want to talk to him any more than necessary, and he seemed to feel the same way about them.  Only the boy was friendly.  He went up to him and said, "Good day, uncle.  Can I help you with anything?"
"No!" snapped the old man as he shuffled away down the street.  His shoes were like bedroom slippers, but all dirty and with the soles almost worn through.  The boy shrugged his shoulders and went off to run errands for the tavern keeper.  The old man just wandered around town, peering angrily into windows as if he disapproved of everything he saw going on inside.

Later, the boy ran into him again hanging around the bakery, shooting pathetic, sideways glances at the cakes and loaves as they were carried out the door, wrapped in protective arms.
"Good evening, uncle," said the boy.  The old man scowled and started to stomp away, but no sooner had he gone two steps than he shuffled back, leaned way up close to the boy's ear, and whispered conspiratorially, "Boy, do you think you could get me a nice, fat loaf of bread?  I'll make it worth your while."  The boy's grin ate up half his face.
"Uncle, it's no trouble to me at all.  Just a minute."  and he went inside the shop to talk to the baker.  He started telling the story of the bear who thought he was a mole, miming the action as the main character tried to dig his tunnels, mound his hills and chase his worms.  Soon the baker and the couple of customers in his shop were roaring with laughter and when the boy had finished the story, he received two fresh raisin buns and a small loaf of white bread.  He brought his spoils out to the old man, offering him one bun and half the loaf, but the old codger shook his head and snapped, "I never let those nasty dried-out things near my stomach!  I'll take the loaf, if you please.  You keep those spotty buns."  This was perfectly agreeable to the boy, who preferred the raisin buns to plain bread, and they were fresh while the loaf was from the day before.  In spite of its dryness, it soon disappeared down the old man's gullet.
"Where will you stay tonight, uncle?" asked the boy.  The old man looked around nervously.
"Well, I don't know.  Truth be told, I was supposed to meet a friend here, but he hasn't come.  He knows the place better than me."
"Who is this friend?  Maybe I can find him for you."
"Oh no, he doesn't live in this dump of a village.  When I met him he had a splendid castle on an island in a sea surrounded by desert.  Later he had to leave it, but I'm sure he's living well still."  The boy was impressed by the image this statement left in his head, but he had never heard of a sea in the middle of a desert with an island and a castle.  Not even in stories.  Finally, the old man accepted the boy's invitation to spend the night in the hayloft of the stables.  The hay was soft, if somewhat pokey, and the animals made the building pleasantly warm.

In the middle of the night, the boy was awakened by voices.  He looked out over the edge of the loft and could barely make out two figures standing in the middle of the stable, just their outlines illuminated by the moonlight seeping through the chinks in the walls.  One was the old man, looking as filthy and scruffy as ever, even in such little light.  The other figure was taller and clothed in something that shone softly, like satin.  They were speaking in hushed tones to each other, but it was still easy to tell that they were arguing.  The old man's whisper was harsh and raspy and his arms jerked around as he hissed at the other.  His companion/opponent had a voice like a breeze in Indian summer, soft, but with wintery teeth that caught hold of you as it slipped past.  The boy leaned over the edge of the loft just a little more and strained his ears to hear something.
"You can't do this to me!" the old man hissed, "You promised!  After all I've done for you - "
"I never asked or demanded a thing from you," soothed the other, mellifluous words filling the air like smoke, "You made your choices.  I offered what I could and made clear what was necessary to receive my aid."
"You didn't reveal everything, you bastard!  You kept some of those oh-so-important details to yourself, and look at me now!  I'm a beggar in some backwards, backwoods village!  I did everything you required, and if you required me not to do other things, you should have said so."
"You foolish man, you would still challenge me?" the voice had an odd kind of echo to it, "What is common sense need not be mentioned.  If you need it so, you are uncommonly senseless."
"There you go with your insults, like you're so smart.  You remember when we first met, where you were?"
"Your intervention was welcome but unnecessary."  A voice that you heard in your head as much as with your ears.
"Ah, ox dung."
"Be silent.  You may draw attention to our presence.  It is not in our interest at this time."
"There, you see how easy it is to tell people what not to do?"
The other seemed to ripple in the dimness, and expand.  "I advise you to be still now.  Tomorrow we will leave together for the north.  Meet me on the road, a mile from town.  I will wait by the blue boulders.  You will come with a mule to carry the supplies I will have."
"Fine, a mule," muttered the old man, shaking his head and staring at the floor.  He turned to go back up the ladder to the loft and the other stepped backwards into deeper shadow.  With a soft whump, the air seemed to lighten and brighten, and the boy could suddenly see that the barn floor was empty of people.  He rolled back to his place in the hay, just as the old man's head crept over the top of the ladder.  He was grumbling to himself through clenched teeth, "That sneaky bastard.  As soon as I get that box back I'll show him."  Grunting, he deposited himself in a pile of hay, and for all his bother and consternation, was soon snoring away.  In spite of the odd scene he had just witnessed, the boy also fell to dreaming in no time.