er his
superintendence the unwieldy masses were dragged to the edge of the
garden and arranged upon the frontier line between the Forest and the
lawn. The children were delighted with the scheme. They entered into it
with enthusiasm. At all costs this defense against the inroads of the
Forest must be made secure. They caught their uncle's earnestness, felt
even something of a hidden motive that he had; and the visit, usually
rather dreaded, became the visit of their lives instead. It was Aunt
Sophia this time who seemed discouraging and dull.

"She's got so old and funny," opined Stephen.

But Alice, who felt in the silent displeasure of her aunt some secret
thing that alarmed her, said:

"I think she's afraid of the woods. She never comes into them with us,
you see."

"All the more reason then for making this wall impreg--all fat and thick
and solid," he concluded, unable to manage the longer word. "Then
nothing--simply _nothing_--can get through. Can't it, Uncle David?"

And Mr. Bittacy, jacket discarded and working in his speckled waistcoat,
went puffing to their aid, arranging the massive limb of the cedar like
a hedge.

"Come on," he said, "whatever happens, you know, we must finish before
it's dark. Already the wind is roaring in the Forest further out." And
Alice caught the phrase and instantly echoed it. "Stevie," she cried
below her breath, "look sharp, you lazy lump. Didn't you hear what Uncle
David said? It'll come in and catch us before we've done!"

They worked like Trojans, and, sitting beneath the wisteria tree that
climbed the southern wall of the cottage, Mrs. Bittacy with her knitting
watched them, calling from time to time insignificant messages of
counsel and advice. The messages passed, of course, unheeded. Mostly,
indeed, they were unheard, for the workers were too absorbed. She warned
her husband not to get too hot, Alice not to tear her dress, Stephen not
to strain his back with pulling. Her mind hovered between the
homeopathic medicine-chest upstairs and her anxiety to see the business
finished.

For this breaking up of the cedar had stirred again her slumbering
alarms. It revived memories of the visit of Mr. Sanderson that had been
sinking into oblivion; she recalled his queer and odious way of talking,
and many things she hoped forgotten drew their heads up from that
subconscious region to which all forgetting is impossible. They looked
at her and nodded. They were full of life; they