s depredations that had been committed during the last month or
two, he came suddenly to a dead stop, alike in his walk and his
speculations. The child missing from the mill two months ago--the
accepted theory was that it had tumbled into the mill-race and been swept
away; but the mother had always declared she had heard a shriek on the
hill side of the house, in the opposite direction from the water. It was
unthinkable, of course, but he wished that the boy had not made that
uncanny remark about child-flesh eaten two months ago. Such dreadful
things should not be said even in fun.

Van Cheele, contrary to his usual wont, did not feel disposed to be
communicative about his discovery in the wood. His position as a parish
councillor and justice of the peace seemed somehow compromised by the
fact that he was harbouring a personality of such doubtful repute on his
property; there was even a possibility that a heavy bill of damages for
raided lambs and poultry might be laid at his door. At dinner that night
he was quite unusually silent.

"Where's your voice gone to?" said his aunt. "One would think you had
seen a wolf."

Van Cheele, who was not familiar with the old saying, thought the remark
rather foolish; if he _had_ seen a wolf on his property his tongue would
have been extraordinarily busy with the subject.

At breakfast next morning Van Cheele was conscious that his feeling of
uneasiness regarding yesterday's episode had not wholly disappeared, and
he resolved to go by train to the neighbouring cathedral town, hunt up
Cunningham, and learn from him what he had really seen that had prompted
the remark about a wild beast in the woods. With this resolution taken,
his usual cheerfulness partially returned, and he hummed a bright little
melody as he sauntered to the morning-room for his customary cigarette.
As he entered the room the melody made way abruptly for a pious
invocation. Gracefully asprawl on the ottoman, in an attitude of almost
exaggerated repose, was the boy of the woods. He was drier than when Van
Cheele had last seen him, but no other alteration was noticeable in his
toilet.

"How dare you come here?" asked Van Cheele furiously.

"You told me I was not to stay in the woods," said the boy calmly.

"But not to come here. Supposing my aunt should see you!"

And with a view to minimising that catastrophe, Van Cheele hastily
obscured as much of his unwelcome guest as possible under the folds of