narrative, and partly owing to the assurance of Charles, when
in sudden misgiving she had consulted him on the point, that Balaam
_had_ been an ass.

Balaam's reluctant underjaw was accordingly turned in the direction of
the woods, and, little thinking the drive might prove an eventful one,
Ruth and Molly set off at that easy amble which a well-fed pampered
donkey will occasionally indulge in.

CHAPTER VI.

After the glare and the noise, the shrill blasts of penny trumpets, and
the sustained beating of penny drums, the silence of the Slumberleigh
woods was delightful to Ruth; the comparative silence, that is to say,
for where Molly was, absolute silence need never be feared.

Long before the first gate had been reached Balaam had, of course,
returned to the mode of procedure which suited him and his race best,
and it was only when the road inclined to be downhill that he could be
urged into anything like a trot.

"Never mind," said Molly, consolingly to Ruth, as he finally settled
into a slow lounge, gracefully waving his ears and tail at the army of
flies which accompanied him, "when we get to the place where the firs
are, and the road goes between the rocks, it's downhill all the way, and
we'll gallop down."

But it was a long way to the firs, and Ruth was in no hurry. It was an
ideal afternoon, verging towards evening; an afternoon of golden lights
and broken shadows, of vivid greens in shady places. It must have been
on such a day as this, Ruth thought, that the Almighty walked in the
garden of Eden when the sun was low, while as yet the tree of knowledge
was but in blossom, while as yet autumn and its apples were far off,
long before fig-leaves and millinery were thought of.

On either side the bracken and the lady-fern grew thick and high, almost
overlapping the broad moss-grown path, across which the young rabbits
popped away in their new brown coats, showing their little white linings
in their lazy haste. A dog-rose had hung out a whole constellation of
pale stars for Molly to catch at as they passed. A family of
honeysuckles clung, faint and sweet, just beyond the reach of the little
hand that stretched after them in turn.

They had reached the top of an ascent that would have been level to
anything but the mean spirit of a donkey, when Molly gave a start.

"Cousin Ruth, there's something creeping among the trees--don't you hear
it? Oh-h-h!"

There really was a movement in the bracken, which