E. R. Punshon

“ With infinite caution, Hilton began to creep nearer. All his fieldcraft he called to his aid, and prayed for more, for never since the world began had hunter had nobler quarry. Nearer he crept and nearer, crouching, crawling, taking advantage of every cover the bare down afforded, grateful for every stone, glad even of a mole-leap.
She still stood motionless, and so far, at least, evidently did not dream of his approach. It seemed she was absorbed in watching the wonder and the glory of the rising sun. Nearer Wilton crept, light of foot, hoping intently she would not look round. ”

“ Not one of the three men spoke a word. They stood looking oddly at each other and at the mouth of the rabbit-hole. The hound wagged its tail. The farmer was very pale. Bill had the air of expecting next the fall of the skies. Wilton was conscious of a curious thrill of wonder and of fear. He listened intently, half expecting to hear a low, delicious laughter breaking the immense silence of the downs.
"This beats all," said Bill, with tremendous solemnity.
"It's black magic!" said the farmer. "Let's get home quick." ”

“ Wilton asked, amazed, and staring all round at the wide, blank downs.
"No human hand," said Mr. Dickens, "ever threw a stone with such force as that."
II.
Mr. Dickens was evidently much shaken, and Wilton himself was conscious of a feeling of strange awe and dread. At their very feet the hound lay where it had been struck dead, and by whose hand or in what way they could not imagine. ”

“ At the stream's bank the scent was once more lost. Wasting no time, the two men followed it upwards, and when they came near to the rabbit warren, the scene of Wilton's earlier discomfiture, Mr. Dickens took off his coat and wrapped it round the hound's head. Muffled and blinded, the hound was thus led till they had left the rabbit warren three or four hundred yards behind. Then Mr. Dickens released the dog, which evidently was much puzzled at his proceedings, but accepted them with an air of dignified protest, as though it were really no use attempting to account for human beings. ”

“ As she stood there, watching the sun rise, she seemed a thing of air and light compact, as though, perhaps, new-born from the dew and the sweetness of the heather and these first rays of the sun. Had a god dreamed in the fresh morning, before wakening, such a vision as this might have been his. ”

“ Stanstead was a little village in Gloucestershire, about forty miles distant. On the morrow a cricket match was to be played there, in which Wilton had promised to take part, having been invited as a kind of reply to the capture by the other side of a county "pro." A friend, also playing, was to call for him in the morning in his motor-car. Leaving at nine, they would have plenty of time in which to get to their destination for the start of play at half-past eleven.
A knock came at the door. Johnson, the bailiff of the little rectory farm, would like to see Mr. Wilton at once, if he might. ”

“ Wilton asked.
She seemed to hesitate, and then laughed—the same low, soft, delicious laughter he remembered so well.
"I ran in the water," she explained, "so that the dog should not be able to trace me. Then, when I got near the rabbits, I stood on the bank and called. When one came, I cut my finger and put blood on its tail and on its feet. It was frightened then, and ran back to its burrow, and I knew the dog would follow the scent of my blood. So I jumped back into the water, and went on up the stream."
"And do the rabbits come when you call them?" Wilton asked. ”

“ I went into the field, and made all the sheep go together in the middle; and then I went away quite close to you, but you never saw because of the dark. That was why I laughed."
"And was it you," Wilton asked, "who took the butter and stuff, and who milked the cows?"
She nodded.
"Don't you know that sort of thing is stealing?" he asked.
"What is 'stealing'?" she inquired.
"Why, it's wicked!" Wilton answered.
"What is 'wicked'?" she inquired.
"Why, it's—I don't know," said Wilton.
"It is foolish to talk of things you don't know about," she informed him. "Father and I never do." ”

“ Wilton exclaimed. "We saw nothing."
"Our home is not there to be seen," she answered.
"Was it you," Wilton asked, "who killed those sheep of ours?"
"No, that was father," she answered. "I never kill things; father does that. If I try to kill anything, I go all upside down inside. ”

“ Now and again he complained of the number of people present, declaring that they crowded the cave inconveniently.
"There is no one here except your daughter and myself," Wilton said.
"The cave is full of all the other people I have ever known," the sick man answered. "Who are you? You are the only one I don't know."
"I want to be your friend," Wilton answered. "You ought to be taken somewhere for care and attention. You are ill, you know." ”

“ Wilton asked wonderingly.
"A good life," the sick man answered—"better than gaol and better than tramping. I have been happier here than when I was junior partner in Johnson and Mayne. Yes, a good life," he repeated—"always something doing. Why, sometimes we would go many miles in a night! I tell you, you want to spend four years in gaol to know what freedom means."
He asked for water, and Wilton gave him some. ”

“ They went back accordingly, and a good deal more slowly than they had come, the only content member of the party being the dog, which kept wagging its tail, and had quite the air of having brought a very difficult business to a satisfactory termination. The news of this hunt that had led to a rabbit's burrow spread wide over the downs, and the general opinion was that the hunters had been strangely fortunate to escape being themselves turned into rabbits. Wilton went to see the dog's owner, Mr. Dickens, who was very interested, but could throw no light on the matter. ”

“ Chiefly what was stolen was food—sheep, poultry, eggs, and butter from dairies, being the chief losses reported. There were several cases, too, of farmers complaining that someone was milking their cows. Wilton got a list of all cases reported, and then wrote to the chief constables of the neighbouring counties. The result was he found that, over an area extending from the Mendip Hills on the west to the North Downs on the east, from the New Forest in the south to the Cotswolds in the north, these cases had occurred at intervals for more than a year past. ”

“ For another mile they ran straight on over the quiet downs. Then the farmer spoke again—
"There's running water ahead," he said. "Nought evil can cross running water."
In fact, they came soon to a little stream. and there, for the first time, the hound was at fault. The hunters had to pause while it ran to and fro, sniffing and seeking.
"Take it up and down the bank," Wilton said. "If whatever we are following took to the water, it must have left again somewhere."
"Which way?" Bill asked.
"Try up first," Wilton said—"the land looks lonelier up there." ”

“ His father wished him to enter the Church, but Wilton felt he lacked the vocation. His mother wished him to do anything he liked, so long as he did not leave England. Fortunately, the problem was not a pressing one, as he had inherited a small capital of a few thousand pounds from an aunt, and, though his own tastes turned towards farming in the Colonies, he had as yet come to no decision. The breakfast proceeded, and Mrs. Tonge said—
"You are not going to Stanstead to-night, are you, Wilton?" ”

“ Dickens's bloodhound. It was a sling formed of stripe of dried hide, and near by was a small pile of carefully-chosen stones, smooth and round.
One corner of the cave was partitioned off by a curtain made from a piece of old tarpaulin. Wilton guessed that this formed the bed-chamber of the girl, who was standing looking at the sick man.
"You must have a doctor," Wilton said.
"What is 'doctor'?" she asked.
"A man who makes sick people well—sometimes," Wilton explained. "Have you any water?" ”

“ A MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS.
By E. R PUNSHON.
Author of "The Glittering Desire" "Hidden Lives," etc.
AT the rectory, breakfast had just begun. Mrs. Tonga was pouring out the coffee. The old Rector himself was neglecting his correspondence to read aloud the cricket news in the morning paper to his son, Wilton, who had just come in from his early stroll round their little farm. ”