He very soon found himself on the outskirts of the small village where he lived, at the home of the oldest man in the region, who was known for his wisdom in all things. The young lad went up the path to the old man's house, and knocked on the rough-hewn wooden door. A muffled grunt of acknowledgement led him to enter, somewhat fearfully, for the interior was dark, and there was a foul smell not unlike that of unwashed socks. In fact, that was the odor, as the old man rarely washed himself, much less his socks.      The young man sat down by the hearth, where the old man was busily carving something from an old, gnarled piece of wood.      "What is it that you do?", asked the young lad, who was trying to be polite even as the stench of the place was eating at his nostrils. The old man clearly had not bathed in a long while; the young man was sure he had seen a cockroach scuttling about in the old man's beard.      "A carving for you, lad", replied the old man, somewhat mysteriously, "For your journey!"