found the lad?"

"It is not your son--'tis I. Why, what has happened, my good Margery?"
But the poor old creature fell back and wrung her hands, sobbing
bitterly.

"The lad!--dun ye know aught o' the lad? Poor Reuben!--he wunnot come
back no more! Alack! alack!"

And with some difficulty Olive learnt that Margery's grandson, the
keeper's only child, had gone into the forest some days before, and had
never returned. It was no rare thing for even practised woodsmen to be
lost in this wild, wide forest; and at night, in the winter time there
was no hope. John Dent had gone out with his fellows, less to find the
living than to bring back the dead.

Filled with deep pity Olive sat down by the miserable grandmother; but
the poor soul refused to be comforted.

"John'll go mad--clean mad! There beant nowheres such a good lad as our
Reuben; and to be clemmed to death, and froze! O Lord, tak' pity on us,
miserable sinners!"

For hours Olive sat by the old woman's bedside. The murky winter day
soon closed in, and the snow began to fall; but still there was nothing
heard save the wind howling in the forest. Often Margery started up,
crying out that there were footsteps at the door, and then sank back in
dumb despair.

At last there was a tramp of many feet on the frozen ground, the latch
was lifted, and John Dent burst in.

He was a sturdy woodsman, of a race that are often seen in this forest
region, almost giant-like in height and bulk. The snow lay thick on his
uncovered head and naked breast, for he had stripped off all his upper
garments to wrap round something that was clasped tightly in his arms.
He spoke to no one, looked at no one, but laid his burden before the
hearth supported on his knees. It was the corpse of a boy blue and
shrivelled, like that of one frozen to death. He tried to chafe and bend
the fingers, but they were as stiff as iron; he wrung the melting snow
out of the hair, and, as the locks became soft and supple under his
hand, seemed to think there was yet a little life remaining.

"Why dunnot ye stir, ye fools! Get t' blanket--pull't off the ould
woman. I tell 'ee the lad's alive."

No one moved, and then the frantic father began to curse and swear. He
rushed into old Margery's room.

"Get up wi' thee. How darest thee lie hallooing there. Come and help t'
lad!" and then he ran back to where poor Reuben's body lay extended on
the hearth, surrounded by the other woodsmen, most of whom were pale