----

Heigho! Peter sat up and shrugged the vision off. He must not be
thinking back. It wouldn't do. The new life was here. _Novaya Jezn._
Like the seedling from the twisted oak, he was going to grow straight
and true--to be himself, the son of his mother, who had died with a
prayer on her lips that Peter might not be what his father had been.
Thus far, he had obeyed her. He had grown straight, true to the memory
of that prayer.

Yes, life was good. He tossed away his cigarette, ground it into the
ground with his heel, then lay back against the tree, drinking in great
drafts of the clean night air. The forest was so quiet that he could
hear the distant tinkle of Cedar Creek down beyond the Cabin. The time
was now well after eleven. What if Hawk Kennedy failed to appear? And
how long must----?

A tiny sound close at hand, clear, distinct. Peter took a chance and
called out,

"Is that you, Hawk Kennedy?"

Silence and then a repetition of the sound a little louder now and from
directly overhead. Peter rose, peering upward in amazement.

"Yes, I'm here," said a low voice among the leaves above him.

And presently a foot appeared, followed by legs and a body, emerging
from the gloom above. Peter threw the light of his torch up into the
tree.

"Hey! Cut that," commanded a voice sharply.

And Peter obeyed. In a moment a shape swung down and stood beside him.
After the glare of the torch Peter couldn't make out the face under the
brim of the cap, but he could see that it wore a mustache and short
growth of beard. In size, the stranger was quite as tall as Peter.

Hawk Kennedy stood for a moment listening intently and Peter was so
astonished at the extraordinary mode of his entrance on the scene that
he did not speak.

"You're from McGuire?" asked the man shortly.

"Yes."

"Why didn't he come himself?"

The voice was gruff, purposely so, Peter thought, but there was
something about it vaguely reminiscent.

"Answer me. Why didn't he come?"

Peter laughed.

"He didn't tell me why. Any more than you'd tell me why you've been up
this tree."

"I'm takin' no chances this trip. I've been watchin'--listenin'," said
the other grimly. "Well, what's the answer? And who--who the devil are
you?"

The bearded visage was thrust closer to Peter's as though in
uncertainty, but accustomed as both men now were to the darkness,
neither could make out the face of the other.

"I'm McGuire's superintendent. He sent me her