The' Omaha Sunday- Bee
MAGAZINE
VOU 61-NO. 32.
M A G A Z I N E
OMAHA, SUNDAY MORNING, JANUARY' 22, 1922. ,
1 M
FIVE CENTS
FULFILL E
By Charles Sax by
' FEATURES-
The
R
If You .Could Have Whatever
You Most Wish for, What
Would You Ask?
"B
L'T then, of court, Mr, Mr. Tolley will
alway hav her rnl ready."
It' waa Mr. Stock who apok; after
warda, when ttlni had happened and um4,
leaving atthing on which h could really plac
hi hand., May lard liked to think that the
word Bad "struck htm with jl poculutr algnlfl
canr." Hut la actual fact tfley pawed targaly
unnoticed. mora dcbrle on th fre.hrt of Mr.
Htooa'a apetb a oh Mood in tha doorway In
th half (StglUvt manner bent ting on who
merely II n vera for a pleaaant word over her
lodsr' dinner,
. That W'orJ hl already lated Ion, but May
nard did not repeat hi prcvlou error of asking
her to tu down. That, a ho wa now aware,
would hJv omahow savored of Impropriety.
Then agAln, In th manner of th tourist on th.
hunt fou Iroprewlon. he wa warding h
mor aa Ja lyp thun aa an Individual. , KUndlng
ther wih apron enfolded arm, and that out-
r of wrt Pevon accent, ah seemed a
litem properly aa thoi purple china
I th tiiontoL
i diamond pnned caacment wa flung
nd eri" tho putted geranium In th
if aeat th June air struck with an Inde-
,blo wild aweelnesa. Above th erlct
nm ranio gllnipe of tho distant Torn.
ml biatrr under th mellowing light;
mt upheaved waate of Durlnioor. all granite
heather, impliicabty the aamo throughout
If So the Tulleva don't own Ihelr farm?" ho
jf id.
f"ou might think o. for I've been told that
I America it In common to own," Mr. Stook
(forced. "Hut up here in Dartymoor nobody
,iwn, air; If atl Duchy property hereabout",
' he Duchy of Cornwall, w hich Is crow n property.
though it la little enough tho Wing knows of
' what goes on. Mr. Uragdon, over to Tavistock,
he's the agent, and with him it's rent, rent, up
to the Duchy Inn at Princeton each quarter day,
or out you no."
So, from tho coign of the respectably open
door, Mrs. Stook rippled on, and in parallel
accompaniment ran Maynard's thoughts. Dart
moor, all about him, u land In Itself, lifted a
thout-anl feet above the softer vales of th
Devon coast. A brooding sort of place, high
nnd apart In Its seeming openness that was still
so strangely hidden. To Maynard that hlddcn
r.ess. which he sensed all about him, cume as a
mental food, slightly hungered as he .was by
the sterilities of his western college. It was
...,.. .I.., 1. 9 . n. I U .. t .1 , . -
VUllVUg IIIBI 111V till lO VI 11,9 BIIUUIU OU
same wherever one went. This Immemorial
country, beneath its surface -plcturesqucsness,
linked by rent and toll with the dollar problems
of his own Kockledge. Through the window h
could see the Hanger-Down Farm ot which they
spoke, three miles away, crouching under the
jagged leo of Crockern Tor. Remembering its
boulder strewn slopes, he wondered how th
woman there, bleak as her 6wn fields, could
wring a living from that sparse soil. v-
As though In answer to the unspoken ques
tion, Mrs. Stook, having trapped herself about
a fresh relay of breath, went on.
"It is this quarter day as will be the test
for Hanger-Down, sir, seeing the luck poor Mrs.
Tolley had with her pigs this spring, and hard
it most comedo her at best. Quite well to do
iftey was oncc there's been Tolleys on the
"Moor for hundreds of years; but her husband
w) lost, horse and all, in Fox Tor Mire one
night, a-hurrylng home when she was expecting
Ellas. Since then It's been scrimp and scrape
up to Hanger-Down, and now it Is the pigs,
twenty pound worth of 'em, a-dying on her in
an hour, through eating toadstools, they say.
And she left with only that Ellas, as is more
of a hindrance than a help, poor Innocent."
Unknown to herself, probably from her
sheer relish in it, Mrs. Stook had the art of the
born raconteuse; an incommunicable way of
making her hearer see all these things from
which she really spoke but did not actually say.
Maynard found himself catching flashes back
of her words. Tigs he had never before real
ized that pigs could also be tragedy. But he
could see them now, spread across tho -foreground
In a riot of fat death; and against them
under its thatch ot hair, half sensitive, half
silly, wholly wistful.
"Ah, yes Elias," Maynard murmured. "I
have noticed him." '
"You probably would, sir," Mrs. Stook firmly
agreed. "Not that there's a mite of harm in
him, but a bit masedlike. There's some as say
it was the shock of his father's death afore ho
was born, while there's others "
Mrs. . Stook paused for a backward glance of
caution over her shoulder, and her tone sank to .
a more thrilling contralto.
"There's others say. as he got pixy led when
a child. Not that I hold with such things my
self, sir, but I see to it as my own children is
safe within door after sunset, for the Moor is
a whisht place come dark, come dew."
Her speech was at high tide now, and sho
rode triumphantly on its crest. Seeing it might
spread Itself over the lower levels of Dartmoor
superstitions, Maynard sought to guide it back
to , those channels where it would turn the
wheels of his own desire.
"Yon said that tomorrow is quarter day?"
"Tomorrow as ever is, sir. Come nine o'clock
Mr. Bragdon will be up to the Duchy Inn, and
it is five pound that Mrs. Tolley must pay up.
A stinger it is to him each time she does it, for
thevs many as 'd give ten pounds a year more
for Hanger-Down if she lost her lease on it.
How Mrs. Tolley does it is the wonder of tho
Moor, you might say, and I've heard Mr. Brag
don myself a-bawling at her: 'So Mrs. Tolley
haa her rent again, hey? Bound to be so, Mr
Tolley, or you'll send Elias up to the Wood
again td find out why hey?' "
With that impartible magic behind her
words, Mrs. Stook was once more painting those
inner pictures on Maynard's brain. The Duchy
Inn, grimly foursquare, with its air of turning
a hunched shoulder.'to the perpetual blasts. It
would probably be raining, with a heavy odor
of steam from ,the shaggy . coated ponies in the
farm carts outside, ..Groups of men, stiffly con
scious of their unaccustomed, ceremonial best;
women, clad in sober' Black; -the faces of all
alik marked with that moorland seal of sheer
endurance. . ! ;
And within, at Caesar's . table, the agent
himself, portly flffy, florid, chronically choir
eric,, plainly impressed that to ho the admin
istrator of a Crown Duohy was also to be -appointee
of tfre very gods.
"You. said that tomorrow ' would be the test
for Mrs. Tolley?' Maynard ventured, his mind
still On his own peculiar angle of the affair.
"Aye, sir, so I said, arid I says it again," Mrs:
Btook nodded, with a certaJn darkling. "What
with they pig a-dyihgIf what h said be true,
it a tomorrow as will prov it."
"Prov what?" asked Maynard.
At th directness t that question Mrs.
Stook's speech dried up". ' -A moment before it
had been like the Dart itself in full pate, but
now it was-as though, some subjective cavern
had opened, swallowing it to depths where he
could not pursue. -, ' . - i- . . '
It was a phenomenon which h had already
ncountered in. tn Dartmoor people;. -oe
which he connected omhow with th land
Aualf. spread out In a seemingly frank openness
la.
aaaU.
a
. .In. m moment thm man appeared, poising n m rock fart at the
limit tf th circling firelight, a tlight figure tcreenmJ in ihifHng
vmpr. "I mm lemt in the fog," Maynard celled.
of 'earth and sky through w hich one tramped
blithely, only to find oneself, i with surprising
suddenness, face to face with an impasse.-. And
Mrs. Stook's change of manner- Was as impreg
nable as the Tors themselves,
"If you've finished with the meat, .sir, I'll
. make bold to remove it. "They's apple tart and
clotted cream to follow."- r J- ,
Not until the deep tart was before .him, with
a bowl of cream so thick that the spoon stood
upright in it, did she speak again. Then May
nard, under the push of the thought continually
.uppermost in .his mind, sought- to entice her
back from her sanctuary of silence. -
"I thfhk i'll walk up to Wistman's Wood. this
evening," he remarked casually, but the glanco
that Mrs. Stook threw him held almost alarm.-
"Y'ou be going up to the Wood, sir?" ' .' .
"It must be wonderful up there 'by moon
light," he offered. ' . V--' ' '-' -
"I'd be keeping away, from there after dark,
all unused to the Moor as you: be, 'sir."-.,
' "But there will be almost full, 'rhoon," May
nard objected. ' ' ' s
"It'a the mist; once that comes up' even the
moorsmen theyselves go astray."- " ' " v
Maynard looked out at the ' evening, crys
tallinely golden in the mellowing light, every
Tor sharp against a cloudless sky f" but. Mrs.'
Stook nodded again- in superior sapiency,
"It comes all of a sudden like." :
"If I get lost I'll shout for Elias Tolley to1
come after me," Maynard smiled. "The -Wood
is almost within hearing distance of the farm."
A shadow of suspicion crept over Mrs.- Stook,'
and her answer came with some grlmness'of.
portent. . ' ' , ' -' '
"Aye, if any should know this Wood, . it s
surely him." . '.' :
Secretly charmed by the sublety with which'
he was approaching his real objective, Maynard
went on: , ". " "' ' ' "
"I might stop and speak to Mrs. Tolley again'
about that chair. ' ' :
That was the word which had been lying
unuttered in his mind all the, time,' waiting: its ,
chance to spring forth in some such 'elaborate
carelessness, much as a lover will watt' opportu
nity to utter the name of his mistress. . Now
that it was spoken it almost seemed to him to
take an actual substance, as though' the mere
w:ords were the thing itself; -but Mrs. Stook
accepted it with a faint superiority.
"She'll never part with the chair, sir. The
Tolley chair be knowed all about, even so far '
us London, they do say. She's been offered '
pounds and pounds, but never will she sell." .'
"But the present circumstances ' . ' .
Delicate as hie suggestion; had ' been - if
weighed too. heavily on' the" balance between "
Mrs. Stook's speech and silence. Once again she
cfv'ccted her miracle- of Subjective withdrawal
She waa even withdrawing physically this time,;
her last words completing the 'circle "in which '
all t Heir dialogue had really run. ' .
"Mra. Tolley'll always have her rent, sir." -
Left alone, Maynard resigned himself to a '
.... wskr
Wat f ' 0 : v . 1 s'lV' ('
mood.. .Ho seemed to see, . With-' -a" niclunclioiy
. clearness, how like to lifo had been tho circle
of their talk; always on the verge of revelations,
then ending, Just about where 'it had ' begun,
. with nothing accomplished or t made plain.
- Though scarcely mentioned, the Tolley-chair
was the real core xf that circumference of talk.
He, had desired it the instant' he first saw if,
. startlingly splendid against 'the: meager back
ground of Hanger-Down '.Farm, . almost' thronelike,-black
-with indubitable age,' its carving and
proportions a perfect Specimen' of domestic
Elizabethan. ' ' " '' ' '. . ' ' ' .
.Wilfully he pictured it '. as ; dominating the
too wide, too' new, too 'empty spaces' ofthat
. Bcnbrook Memorial Gallery of which ho was
curator. Enviously' he saw himself-bringing it
' back, in a sort ' of artistic - banditry; 3 as - the
crowning loot of this his first vacation '.tour.
Swiftly he visualized the, little ceremony of its
unveiling, with himself, gracefully in tlie back-
' ground, but still, standing out a 'little! -He had
" never yet been quite able to do that, anil there
was so much that depended on ,his standing out
ninety-nine per cent of it being Elsie Lathrop.
Six years, and Elsie, in those prudent.eollcgiate
' finances, seemed as .far off as ever, and even her.
grave confidence, he suspected, sometimes wore
a little thin. Small wonder,. he thought, as he
- caught a sidewise glimpse .' of himself past
- thirty, with . th- beginnings - of the . curator's
stoop and the slightly peering .manner of one
perpetually involved in the half -'tones , of a
pseudo artistic circle. ! -,- ; j .
That, chair might mean so . much to himself
and Elsie, --Deliciously he-rehearsed again that
,r possible presentation. - Fall, the-hazy .- Indian
summer of the middle west, with the. swish of
-' feet amongst fallen leaves. The r bare gallery,
': the president, faculty and studentsi-of the col- .
. lege. Elsie, demurely radiant at -his little tri
- umph; and, prorhinently placed,-the , Veal center
' of it all and the target for all its hidden arrows,
Mrs.. Ira Benbrook-herself.' ; ? " , ,
.Mrs. Ira she looked before him, -a shape
,- of vision only but uncomfortably' potent 'in his
. affairs. Stout, sixty, sentimental the aggres
sive widow of a self-made man whom, even be-
fore his death, she had left mentally -far behind. -
as is the American custom. Tremendously im
'pressed with the sociaL prominence, of art,' she
bowed before its authorities, while curiously alert -lest,
after all, it might prove to be "hotquite the
thing;" and yet, withal, she was.bf "an -uncom-'
fortabl shrewdness. Bustling,, tyrannical, and .(
always Just-about-to-be fairy godmother of. the'
, gallery built by her husband's will, she lingered
.; perpetually on the brink of furtherUndowment,
without quite going over. And it was on that
'endowment, with the increase of salary to fol
low, that Maynard and Elsie pinned their hopes.
But Mrs. Ira, stabilized by; her shrewdness
like a weathervane by its rod, was emphatically
of the typo that requires to be ' "shown," and
that chair, undoubtedly a treasure,' and as un
doubtedly a bargain, might b the very thing to
precipitate her into the abysses of generosity.
"Tho ' Bcnbrook Chair" swiftiy Maynard
planned a nationwide advertisement of it by
- articles in the leading art magazines, illustrated
. -with photographs, including one of the gallery's
benefactress. Knowing Mrs. Ira, he mentally
: halved whatever he might pay for it, making
up the balance from his own alim pocket
' But between, him and that solution of his
difficulties lay this mysterious and irritating cer
' tainty of the, Tolley rent, j
'How curious and hidden were the conncc-"
': tions; of life. ;. Hanger-Down Farm, the Wood,
and the too spacious corridors of that Itock
. ledge gallery, Mrs. Tolley, Mrs. Ira, and a trag--cdy
of pigs. ; And, always, in the center, himself,
.;,w.ith, Elaie i Lathrop as his invisible companion
and spur. One carried one's own world with
one,, wherever one went, viewing . all others
through its . coloring prisms.
The long June twilight already lay over the
Moor as Maynard started out. A golden radi
ance, faintly, sad, as though gloriously mourn
' ,' ing the dead sanctities of day. Under it the
heather clad slopes showed copper-colored,
, shadowed with purple and overlaid by a bloom
of early summer. .
The moon . already hung huge and yellow
above the sweep of Hessary as he crossed under .
' the trees of Dart Bridge and struck up the lane
leading to tho Wood. At , Hanger-Down he
stopped, looking over the hedges of piled gran
ite to the meager fields beyond. Mrs. Tolley
was -there, standing severe and black shawled
amidst the" rows of potatoes. Hoe in hand, she
faced him across the gate with a suggestion of.
. one defending it.: As h looked at the landscape
: ' about them Maynard' could understand that; a
: place vaguely inimical to all human endeavor;
' whatever came from it would almost of neces
sity be tinged with calamity. Against it all the
woman showed with a dignity of sheer endur- .
ance,' like that of the beetling, storm scarred
Tor above her."
,' It is full late for a stranger to be leaving the
road,"' she warned as he stopped.
"I had a fancy to see the Wood by moon-. ,
light." ' ' - ' ,
"The Wood?" "
Involuntarily Mrs. Tolley glanced to where it
showed, a'darker path on the high slopes, and
as involuntarily she drew her .hwl more closely
about her. - '
"The Wood is a dangerous place after dark."
"I'll remember' that," said Maynard easily;
- then he summoned his most persuasive smile, "I
' had another reason for coming this way; a hope
that you 'might have changed your mind."'
, "If you. mean the chair, it is not for sale,"
she answ'ered.
, "But surely after "
.' . He hesitated; work worn though the woman
was, there remained that about her which made' !-
the, mention of pigs seem almost an affront; yet '
he could imagine her attending to them with
a poise unimpaired, As it was, their ghosts
seemed to rise behind her, Implacable as the
unseen pursuers of a Creek tragedy.
"Afteryour lae,,, h concluded.
That struck horn, but ah fuoad It. fh
would tar anything ha thought; what la could
hIk Uo. with thbt wldo prlaon of th Moor all
bout her, culling oft M-apo, Ita denotation only
atti'iitUMli d by tho de'perNta IWMm. II could
nee Iter, yrar after year, facing thing aero
a ii.inowliitf ilivle of competence that. Ilk th
Wagln Hkln, rvlenihxly reiedrd In upon her.
Her faro grew mor rigid as ho apok, but her
deterniliiutlun held. ,
"Tho chair I not for 'alf,H ah repeated;
then followed a glow of pride. "I hav heard
that American do not understand auch thing,
but th t'lialr hat been In th Tolley family for
hundreds of year. It In all that la left to ua
now, and sine he it the last of u all I mum
keep it for my aon."
A ahu apok Kliaa cam down th lane
toward tlit-iii, hi advent heralded by th -thin
pip of a whlotle, and even at that dlatar( Ms
(hipping, half dancing walk proclaimed him aa
on ct apart from umial humanity. A dim un
dorstanding dawned on Maynard: all that wa
left to the woman was her aon, all that wa left
to her ton, the chair. Had Ellas been differ
ent ah might have old, but, being a h was.
her pride in him demanded that he hav the
chair a sign and seat of what his forbear had
one been.
Silently he left her, regretting that In hi
way up the lane lie must come fac to face
with Ella. Khambllngly tho fellow came, rhlld'a
fai-o on iiian a ahoulders, piping his way to that
elfin whlHtlc.
"Ku you going up along?" he asked, a May
nard drew near. Then followed a. half cunning
of suggestion, "Muybo you'm ugoing up to the
Wood ?"
The afterglow was fading, nnd over the Moor,
already faintly silvered by the moon, crept a
melancholy purple. Down the lane the figure
of Mrs. Tolley stood out agnliixt the lingering
lavenders of the sky. Intently watchful of her
son. Noting the look on Elias face,' Maynard
had an odd feeling that back of tho other's
question lurked something which ho could only
vaguely apprehend by the term "a crisis,' but u
crisis of what he could not Imagine.
"Tia a line night for lilm," Elias went on,
grinning again as though In delight of a mutual
mystery. "Tho mlst'll be acoroing soon, and
he likes the mist." .
- "Who llkea the mist?" Maynard Impatiently
demanded, and Elias grinned again in coy re
proach of so much reserve.
"As if you didn't know. For what else would
you be agoing up to tho gashly Wood come
dark? It's the Giver, I mean, of course."
- "The Giver?" .
From down the lane came Mrs. Tolley's
voice, calling her son in harsh entreaty, but
Elias took no heed. - Ac rots his face, so un
marked by All that would have made it that
of a man, there glowed a faint light as of one
who, for an Instant, sights something beyond
the Ktate of his ex-pa radlscd humanity. . ,
"Yes fay," ho nodded eagerly. "The Giver,
who else? If so bo you sees him up in the
Wood after dark, he'll give you what you asks
ot him. It was all that away that Peter Gurney,
down to Marycleave, jtot the wench for wife,
come three years agone."
Some Moor legend, Maynard saw, one of
thoso rather smothering mental creations which
he had felt all about him. With a tourist's avid
xncss for tho picturesque, he listened as Elias
went on.
"Caught up to tho Wood, Peter was, by the
night and the mist, and when he traipses past,
come morn, I knowed he'd seen un. The wench
was promised to- another and the banns all
called down to Shaugh Church, but sho up and
off to Plymouth with Peter that day and marries
Mm afore the magistrate. ' Like cat and dog
they be no.w, and Peter doing his ten days in
Tavistock jail for clouting her with a stick,
but 'e got 'cr."
With singular vividness Maynard cduld
imagine that man of whom Ellas spoke. . Un
couth, pallid with the stranenesa of his vigil,
striding down that lane in the swirl of a vapory
dawn, alive with renewed hope of a woman lost
to him. ' .-'-. '
A suspicion prompted him to question, care
fully disguising the amused tolerance back of it.
"And ycrfi, Elias, have you seen him, too?"
"How should I not?" Elias queried back,
with utmost simplicity. "Six years agona it
was, come St. John's Eve. Just so close as you
he stood, with the mist ablowing all about un.
'And what would you have, if so be you could?'
'e asks, me, laughing like. But I know un and
I say'sso bold as brass, 'That mother alius has
her rent,' says I. And Squire Bragdon can take
on all he likes, but her rent mother has, for
what the Giver gives you gets.'' -
, Once more Mrs. Tolley's call echoed up the
lane, and at its command the light faded from
Ellas' face, leaving it only that of "an inno
cent." Then, as he turned to obey, came a last
flicker that sent him after Maynard, who was
already striding up the slope.
'-'You'll know if you sees un. Just like me,
he looks." '
He clouded for an instant in a doubt that
ended in a weak flame of denial,
i "That Peter Gurney told that the. Giver
looks like him; but it's false, I tell you. I've
seen and I know, just like me, that's how it
is he looks." - ,
Ho shambled off, piping his way down to
the solitary woman who awaited him, a darker
shadow on her shadowy land." With a breath of
relief, as of one bursting through entangling
cobwebs, Maynard strode on alone.
A rough way, but gradually he neared the
Wood, the first tithe he had seen it except by the
light of full day. A few upended acres of
stunted oaks, unbelievably aged, their boles half
buried in a slide of broken granite.
"Wistman's Wood," the Wood of the Wiso
Men; last remnant of the legendary forest
which once covered all the Moor; sole recep
tacle of the secrets of those Druids whose over
thrown cromlechs strew ita wastes. Cautiously
Maynard entered, picking his way over the gran
ite slabs, the holes between them treacherously
masked by bracken and brambles. A weird
enough place even by high noon, It showed eerie
and sinister in this play of moonlight and black
shade. It looked such a wood as might be
grown for-the fashioning of Charon's bark or
the dim galleys of some terrestrial Dis.
Gnarled trunks going deeply down amidst
the boulders that lifted him almost to th level
of the sparse branches, funereally wreathed In
xnistletoe. ,
It was that play of half light which Iras
most disconcerting, that difficulty In determin-'
ing which was substance and which mere
glamour of moon. There' were momenta when
the wood seemed almost of a different di- '
mension as apparently solid shape dissolved at
his approach, and what had promised open paths
became high . rocks across his way. H had
pushed to the center of it now, and la a half
repulsion he turned to pick his way back to
the more ordinary openness of the slopes.
The light wa mellowing strangely; a huge
boulder, which had not been ther an Instant
before, wavered toward him, enveloping him In
a moist darkness. Fluttering streamers wreathed
the branches, a faery whiteness pervaded the
whole place. .Th moon eemed to flicker and
go out. like a blown lamp; a aton on which
he had been about to atep rant itself to rags,
and he had scarce time to aav himself from
a, plunge into on of th gaping oubliettes
masked by the acrid ferns. ...;.
With a rueful laugh Maynard realised that
these -moor folk knew their own country. Even
a Ellas Tolley, cr that Pter Ournr, he. to.
was now "caught m th 'Wood by th mist and
th nlchf It waa an iprlne. and wit
dItht h dtM.-ovrd himself atill oung anougH
for th thrill of an perlnc to outwaiga it
diacomfort. ,
Ther wa .nothiiti: to do .but watt,
though it b until Hi diiwn. Antongat the '
piled up boulder the lrt m!.-tep might mn
ft broken limb, A flit rock, overarched by. a
mor leafy oak, prumlaed refuge, and h brok '
off dry branclie and built a Are. It blasad up.
making of Ma nook an art had bowr amtdat
th vapory chao that poured all about It.
J I aat long, warming hlmaalf, occasionally,
amok Ing on of th treasured clgaret that mutt
hut him until morning. Hour after hour U
by; In th muftllng nilM th brawl of th Dart,
fur below, aunk to a faint dlepaaon; from th
i.careHt lop th aoumla ot aom ponies gracing
cam with a aeni of companionship. . All 1
wa a atlllnet o deep that h a1mct caught'
th aubtly changing vibration of th deepening,
night Ther waa a fascination about It art o:
Mrong that he doubted It It wa "entirely,
healthy" and conscientiously he atro to "keep
A grip on himself."
Th sens of tint waa largely In abeyance,
so Maynard could never quit determin how'
long It was before that young stranger hap-'
pened on hlin, but the night had slid Into lis
moat ilent hour. Th ft rat Intimation wa from
those ponlra out on tho slope. A audden ceasing
ot their breathy munching, an instant In which
lie could plcturo theirt with head upreared, their
nostrils distended lo catch the acent of whatever
It win that had disturbed them. Then a ring of
hoofs on the night, an ache of Increased allrnc.
through which Maynard strained to catch a
further sound. F.ven when It cam h half
doubted It. FootKteps, no deadened by th mist
that they were more to bo felt than apprehend
by the cars, advancing down through th Weed,
springing from boulder to botllder with a ur
prising sureties.
There was something almost uncanny la th
direct certainty of that approach, nd h felt
himself chilling a little, then warming aa he
caught an unmistakable humannca in that
pretience. Whoever It mlffht be It wa somebody
who knew his way and Maynard raised hi role.
"Hello, there'."
lie had not imagined that the man wa e
close. The answering hall, with a ring ot Blight
amusement In it, came from hut a few yards
away. In a moment he appeared, poising on a
rock Just at the limit of the circle of firelight, a
slight figure screened In shifting vapor.
"I am lost in the fog." Maynard call!, his
own tone catching a reflex of that amusement
which had sounded in the other'.
"I saw your fire through th we call- It
'mist' up here, you know."
A young fellow, and from hi voice and de. .
meaner a genlleroan. It was difficult to dis
tinguish him ss he stood there, on tho extreme
edge of visibility, but Maynard had an imprei
rion of a man several years his Junior and of
much his outer and Inner makeup. A fellow at
homo in cities, traveled, with probably an
academic background; yet his passage through
the Wood had argued, a remarkable familiarity
with the place. Even as he wondered May
nard's mind flashed a possible anawer; probably
this was one of the young men from that abed
cf weather beaten dignity known a Tor Koyal.
"Then 'mist' it shall be, by all means," he
laughed. "It seems to make little dlfferenft to
you, though. You must know the plae well to
tramp it on such a night."
"I O, yes, I know it." '
The stranger shed the subject Tightly ini
Maynard again took up his ton. j
"That is lueky for me: I will claim your good
offices for getting out of here." ('
"That would not be difficult," the other re
plied, then he paused, almost with an .effect
of giving Maynard a chance to change hi mind.
"That is,- if you really want that." . !.
"What did you imagine I wanted?" Ma-inird
retorted. "To stay here nil night?"
"One never knows. Feople want so many
things."
In its tolerance, the slightly conscious broad
mindedness of a young man still fresh from a
university, it was just such an answer, Maynard
amusedly thought, as he himself might hare
given 1 6 years before. . '
"Perhaps you thought that I cam up- here
to watch for the the 'Giver' I believe, Is his
official title?" he ventured, and the answer came
quickly.
"Yon know the legend, then?" '
"I heard it an hour ago, from Elias Tolley."
"Ah, yes poor Elias." . .. , . ; t
The reply came in a negligent half pity, thert
th stranger dropped into a mor reflective
mood. '
"And yet, after all, you know,. the Tolley rent
is one of the miracles of the'Moor."
"A quarterly miracle, depended upon to,'be
on ta.p, like the blood of Januariu," Maynard
put it - ts
"But which never loses iU freshness." ' -
"And tomorrow the supreme test," Maynard
finished. . ,
"For a stranger you seem well acquainted
with the circumstances."
"I have a landlady," said Mayard, . drily,
"What I can't understand is that the neighbor
don't help that miracle a little." ,-
"You might wonder that as a stranger. But,
for all their inarticulateness, these poor-folk
have a keen sense of the drama of a situation."
More .and more, as the other spoke, May
nard was receiving the impression of one of
much his own walk of life. That they should
meet here, at such a time and under such clr
cumstances, was Just another of the surprise
of this surprising Moor. A place so famous,- yej
holding such reverses of the little known;; -so
traveled by tourists from every part, and still re
maining one of the solitary parts' of tho earth)
vuo uuuiu never preaici into wnat unusual cir
cumstances it might not project one. :
"When I heard you coming I half hoped
that you might prove to be this mystic being
yourself," Maynard went on, with a touch- of
humor. . - ... ,c'
"I'm afraid I hardly measuro up to the
supernatural," the young man apologized. ,'. ..;
"Hardly since Elias Tolley impressed upon
me that this 'Giver' looked exactly like, him,;'
Maynard laughed. ;
"And Peter Gurney claimed that he looked
like him," the other smiled back; then, almost '
unwillingly, came the addition, "and, you know,
he did get the girl he wanted." -
"When the witnesses disagree ". shrugged
Maynard. "It is a littlo disappointing, though.
Th presiding genius of a place like this should
b a real Druid sort of a chap, In magnificent
nudity and a wreath of mistletoe." ; .
"That would seem more appropriate." f'
' Standing there on his rock, perpetually half -hidden
by the shifting veils of mist,"tha other
seemed hardly more than a voice, at trati.
Afterward Maynard thouaht that that waasrob
ably why he had never bidden tho- fellow ap
proach the fire, but the idea simply never oc
curred to him. Then again, ther was a charm
about their half Jesting, wholly unforeseen col-,
loquy which would have been spoiled by too
much certainty. ,- '.". ' ;
"And yet it 1 Strang that : all -who claim
to have seen him should so agree on tha sam
thing," th stranger continued, still lingering
on th edge of the light, as If he, too, felt that
sam charm of eluslveness. "Just Ilk them
selves; they all agree on that,: at least It al
most leads one to suspect that what they really
saw was just' themselves." .' -,
"You mean " Maynard asked. ! ' ' ' j'
"O, well a plae Iik thia"
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