passed on silent feet through the darkness, and again a fragment of
the song rose to his ears as he watched, and filled him with an
overpowering sadness:--

"We have no joy in any children's game,
For happiness to us is but a name,
Since Terror kissed us with his lips of flame."

Then he noticed that the group was growing smaller. Already the numbers
were less. Somewhere, over there in the dark corner of the yard, the
children disappeared, though it was too dark to see precisely how or
where.

"We dance with phantoms, and with shadows play," rose to his ears.

Suddenly he remembered the little white upright stones he had seen in
that corner of the yard, and understood. One by one they vanished just
behind those stones.

Jimbo shivered, and drew his head in. He did not like those upright
stones; they made him uncomfortable and afraid. Now, however, the last
child had disappeared and the song had ceased. He realised what his fate
would be if the escape were not successful; he would become one of this
band of Frightened Children; dwelling somewhere behind the upright
stones; a terrified shadow, waiting in vain to be rescued, waiting
perhaps for ever and ever. The thought brought the tears to his eyes,
but he somehow managed to choke them down. He knew it was the young
portion of him only that felt afraid--the body; the older self could not
feel fear, and had nothing to do with tears.

He lay down again upon the hard mattress and waited; and soon afterwards
the first crimson streaks of sunrise appeared behind the high elms, and
rooks began to caw and shake their wings in the upper branches. A little
later the governess came in.

Before he could move out of the way--for he disliked being embraced--she
had her arms round his neck, and was covering him with kisses. He saw
tears in her eyes.

"You darling Jimbo!" she cried, "they've come at last."

"How do you know?" he asked, surprised at her knowledge and puzzled by
her display of emotion.

"I heard you scream to begin with. Besides, I've been watching."

"Watching?"

"Yes, and listening too, every night, every single night. You've hardly
been a minute out of my sight," she added.

"I think it's awfully good of you," he said doubtfully, "but----"

A flood of questions followed--about the upright stones, the shadowy
children, where she spent the night "watching him," and a hundred other
things besides. But he got little satisfaction out of her. He ne