grew too thick and
high to allow of anything being easily seen at a little distance.

"If it's a lion," said Molly, in a faint whisper, "and I feel in my
heart it is, he must have Balaam."

Balaam at this moment pricked his large ears, and Molly and Ruth both
heard the snapping of a twig, and saw a figure slip behind a tree.
Molly's spirits rose, and Ruth's went down in proportion. The woods were
lonely, and they were nearing the most lonely part.

"It's only a man," said Ruth, rather sharply. "I expect it is one of the
keepers." (Oh, Ruth!) "Come, Molly, we shall never get home at this
rate. Whip up Balaam, and let us trot down the hill."

Much relieved about Balaam's immediate future, Molly incited him to a
really noble trot, and did not allow him to relapse even on the flat
which followed. Through the rattling and the jolting, however, Ruth
could still hear a stealthy rustle in the fern and under-wood. The man
was following them.

"He's coming after us," whispered Molly, with round frightened eyes,
"and Balaam will stop in a minute, I know. Oh, Cousin Ruth, what shall
we do?"

Ruth hesitated. They were nearing the steep pitch, where the firs
overhung the road, which was cut out between huge bowlders of rock and
sandstone. The ground rose rough and precipitous on their right, and
fell away to their left. Just over the brow of the hill, out of sight,
was, as she well knew, the second gate. The noise in the brushwood had
ceased. Turning suddenly, her quick eye just caught sight of a figure
disappearing behind the slope of the falling ground to the left. He was
a lame man, and he was running. In a moment she saw that he was making a
short cut, with the intention of waylaying them at the gate. He would
get there long before they would; and even then Balaam was beginning the
ascent, which really was an ascent this time, at his slowest walk.

Molly's teeth were chattering in her little head.

"Now, Molly," said Ruth, sharply, "listen to me, and don't be a baby.
He'll wait for us at the gate, so he can't see us here. Get out this
moment, and we will both run up the hill to the keeper's cottage at the
top of the bank. We shall get there first, because he is lame."

They had passed the bracken now, and were among the moss and sandstone
beneath the firs. Ruth hastily dragged Molly out of the cart without
stopping Balaam, who proceeded, twirling his ears, leisurely without
them.

"Oh, my poor Balaam!" sobbed Molly,