t he had no means of knowing how far he would
have to travel or whether, indeed, there had not been some mistake on
Sheldon, Senior's, part or his own. But the directions had been quite
clear and the road must of course lead somewhere--to some village or
settlement at least where he could get a lodging for the night.

And so he trudged on through the woods which already seemed to be
partaking of some of the mystery which surrounded the person of Jonathan
K. McGuire. The whole incident had been unusual and the more interesting
because of the strange character of his employer and the evident fear he
had of some latent evil which threatened him. But Peter Nichols had
accepted his commission with a sense of profound relief at escaping the
other fate that awaited him, with scarcely a thought of the dangers
which his acceptance might entail. He was not easily frightened and had
welcomed the new adventure, dismissing the fears of Jonathan K. McGuire
as imaginary, the emanations of age or an uneasy conscience.

But as he went on, his bag became heavier and the perspiration poured
down his face, so reaching a cross-path that seemed to show signs of
recent travel he put the suitcase down and sat on it while he wiped his
brow. The shadows were growing longer. He was beginning to believe that
there was no such place as Black Rock, no such person as Jonathan K.
McGuire and that Sheldon, Senior, and Sheldon, Junior, were engaged in a
conspiracy against his peace of mind, when above the now familiar
whisperings of the forest he heard a new sound. Faintly it came at first
as though from a great distance, mingling with the murmur of the
sighing wind in the pine trees, a voice singing. It seemed a child's
voice--delicate, clear, true, as care-free as the note of a
bird--unleashing its joy to the heavens.

Peter Nichols started up, listening more intently. The sounds were
coming nearer but he couldn't tell from which direction, for every leaf
seemed to be taking up the lovely melody which he could hear quite
clearly now. It was an air with which he was unfamiliar, but he knew
only that it was elemental in its simplicity and under these
circumstances startlingly welcome. He waited another long moment,
listening, found the direction from which the voice was coming, and
presently noted the swaying of branches and the crackling of dry twigs
in the path near by, from which, in a moment, a strange figure emerged.

At first he thought it was