pon the panel. Since the dark surface of the wood revealed
absolutely nothing, it was evident that he must be mentally looking
through the door, as if he wished to measure thereby all the
possibilities that a house of this sort might include, and how they might
bear upon the question of his entry.

In his indecision he turned and surveyed the scene around. Not a soul
was anywhere visible. The garden-path stretched downward from his feet,
gleaming like the track of a snail; the roof of the little well (mostly
dry), the well-cover, the top rail of the garden-gate, were varnished
with the same dull liquid glaze; while, far away in the vale, a faint
whiteness of more than usual extent showed that the rivers were high in
the meads. Beyond all this winked a few bleared lamplights through the
beating drops--lights that denoted the situation of the county-town from
which he had appeared to come. The absence of all notes of life in that
direction seemed to clinch his intentions, and he knocked at the door.

Within, a desultory chat had taken the place of movement and musical
sound. The hedge-carpenter was suggesting a song to the company, which
nobody just then was inclined to undertake, so that the knock afforded a
not unwelcome diversion.

'Walk in!' said the shepherd promptly.

The latch clicked upward, and out of the night our pedestrian appeared
upon the door-mat. The shepherd arose, snuffed two of the nearest
candles, and turned to look at him.

Their light disclosed that the stranger was dark in complexion and not
unprepossessing as to feature. His hat, which for a moment he did not
remove, hung low over his eyes, without concealing that they were large,
open, and determined, moving with a flash rather than a glance round the
room. He seemed pleased with his survey, and, baring his shaggy head,
said, in a rich deep voice, 'The rain is so heavy, friends, that I ask
leave to come in and rest awhile.'

'To be sure, stranger,' said the shepherd. 'And faith, you've been lucky
in choosing your time, for we are having a bit of a fling for a glad
cause--though, to be sure, a man could hardly wish that glad cause to
happen more than once a year.'

'Nor less,' spoke up a woman. 'For 'tis best to get your family over and
done with, as soon as you can, so as to be all the earlier out of the fag
o't.'

'And what may be this glad cause?' asked the stranger.

'A birth and christening,' said the shepherd.

The stra