omewhere here the bunny runned." Little Bug studied the
roadside with a quaint puzzled face. "Is you 'faid of snakes?"

"Not very much." The Dean's eyes were on the graceful flight of pigeons
circling about the trees beyond the bend.

"Vic isn't 'faid. He killed bid one, two, five, free wattle, wattle
snakes--" Bug caught his breath suddenly--"He told me not to tell that.
I fordot. I don't 'member. He didn't do it--he didn't killed no snakes
fornever."

Dr. Fenneben gave little heed to this prattle. His eyes were on the
pigeons cleaving the air with short, graceful flights. Presently he felt
the soft touch of baby curls against his hand, and little Bug had fallen
asleep with his drooping head on Fenneben's lap.

The Dean gently placed the tired little one in an easy position, and
rested his shoulder against the tree.

"That must be Pigeon Place," he mused. "Every town has its odd
characters. This is one of Lagonda Ledge's little mysteries. Dennie
finds it a pathetic one. How graceful those pigeons are!" And his
thoughts drifted to a far New England homestead where pigeons used to
sweep about an old barn roof.

A fuzzy gray rabbit flashed across the road, followed by a Great Dane
dog in hot chase.

"Bug's bunny! I hope the big murderer will miss it," Fenneben thought.

The roadside bushes half hid him. As the crashing sound of the huge dog
through the underbrush ceased he noticed a woman coming leisurely toward
him. Her arms were full of bitter-sweet berries and flaming autumn
leaves. She wore no hat and Fenneben saw that her gray hair was wound
like a coronal about her head. Before he could catch sight of her face a
heavy staggering step was beside him, and old Bond Saxon, muttering and
shaking his clenched fists, passed beyond him toward the woman. Lloyd
Fenneben's own fists clenched, but he sat stone still. The woman seemed
to melt into the bushes and obliterate herself entirely, while the
drunken man stalked unsteadily on toward where she had been. Then
shaking his fists vehemently at the pigeons, he skulked around the bend
in the road.

As soon as he was out of sight the woman emerged from the bushes, with
autumn leaves hiding her crown of hair. She hastened a few rods toward
the man watching her, then disappeared through a vine-covered gateway
into a wilderness of shrubbery, beyond which the pigeons were cooing
about their cotes.

As she closed the gate, she caught sight of Lloyd Fenneben, leaning
moti