rom walking in
the direction of their dwelling, and observing for myself, without
permitting them to suspect my presence, what manner of men they might be?
Doubtless, their mode of life would be found to admit of some simple and
prosaic explanation. In any case, the evening was fine, and a walk would
be bracing for mind and body. Lighting my pipe, I set off over the moors
in the direction which they had taken.

About half-way down a wild glen there stood a small clump of gnarled and
stunted oak trees. From behind these, a thin dark column of smoke rose
into the still evening air. Clearly this marked the position of my
neighbour's house. Trending away to the left, I was able to gain the
shelter of a line of rocks, and so reach a spot from which I could
command a view of the building without exposing myself to any risk of
being observed. It was a small, slate-covered cottage, hardly larger
than the boulders among which it lay. Like my own cabin, it showed signs
of having been constructed for the use of some shepherd; but, unlike
mine, no pains had been taken by the tenants to improve and enlarge it.
Two little peeping windows, a cracked and weather-beaten door, and a
discoloured barrel for catching the rain water, were the only external
objects from which I might draw deductions as to the dwellers within. Yet
even in these there was food for thought, for as I drew nearer, still
concealing myself behind the ridge, I saw that thick bars of iron covered
the windows, while the old door was slashed and plated with the same
metal. These strange precautions, together with the wild surroundings
and unbroken solitude, gave an indescribably ill omen and fearsome
character to the solitary building. Thrusting my pipe into my pocket, I
crawled upon my hands and knees through the gorse and ferns until I was
within a hundred yards of my neighbour's door. There, finding that I
could not approach nearer without fear of detection, I crouched down, and
set myself to watch.

I had hardly settled into my hiding place, when the door of the cottage
swung open, and the man who had introduced himself to me as the surgeon
of Gaster Fell came out, bareheaded, with a spade in his hands. In front
of the door there was a small cultivated patch containing potatoes, peas
and other forms of green stuff, and here he proceeded to busy himself,
trimming, weeding and arranging, singing the while in a powerful though
not very musical voice. He w