here on that knot, lost in dream, was a
peacock butterfly that had retired to hibernate. The light from the
fire glowed in its purple and gold eyes, and the warm ascending air
fluttered the wings, but did not restore animation to the drowsy
insect. In corners were snails at the limit of their glazed tracks,
also in retreat before winter. They had sealed themselves up in
their houses against cold.

Mehetabel was constrained to pass in and out of her habitation
repeatedly so as to accumulate fuel that might serve through the
night. Happily, on her way she had noticed a little shelter hut,
probably constructed by a village sportsman, under which he might
conceal himself with his gun and await the game. This was made of
dry heather, and branches of fir and chestnut. She had no scruple
in pulling this to pieces, and conveying as much as she could carry
at a time to her cave.

The child, amused by the fire, did not object to her temporary
desertion, and it was too feeble and young to crawl near to the
flames.

After several journeys to and fro Mehetabel had contrived to form a
goodly pile of dry fuel at the back of her habitation, and now that
a sufficiency of ash had been formed proceeded to embed in it the
potatoes that Betty Chivers had given her.

How often had she and Iver, as children, talked of being savages
and living in wigwams and caves, and now she was driven to a life
of savagery in the midst of civilization. It would not, however,
be for long. She would search the neighborhood round for work, and
when she had got it move away from this den in the Common.

A stoat ran in, raised its head, looked at the fire, then at her,
with glistening eyes devoid of fear, but at a movement of the
child darted away and disappeared.

A Sabbath sense of repose came over Mehetabel. The babe was content
and crooning itself to sleep. Her nerves in tension all day were
now relaxed; her wearied body rested. She had no inquisitive
companion to worry her with questions, none overkind to try her
with injudicious attentions. She could sit on the fragrant fern
leaves, extend her feet, lean her head against the sandstone, and
watch the firelight play over the face of her child.

A slight sound attracted her attention. It was caused by a bramble
leaf caught in a cobweb, drawn in by the draught produced by the
fire, and it tapped at and scratched the covering stone. Mehetabel,
roused from her languor, saw what occasioned the sound, an