lumped lazily to a standstill and fell contentedly to nibbling
grass.

The light in the window was much brighter, viewed from that lessened
distance--thin, yellow streaks of brightness that quivered a little
from the edges of a drawn shade. An uneven wick might easily have
accounted for the unsteadiness, but in that flickering pallor Old
Jerry found something ominously unhealthy--almost uncanny.

But he went on. He clambered down from his high seat and went doggedly
across--steadily--until his hand found the door-latch. And he gave
himself no time for reconsideration or retreat. The metal catch
yielded all too readily under the pressure of his fingers, and when
the door swung in he followed it over the threshold.

The light blinded him for a moment--dazzled him--yet not so completely
but that he saw, too clearly for any mistake, the figure that had
turned from the stove to greet him. Dryad Anderson's face was
pink-tinted from forehead to chin by the heat of the glowing lids--her
lips parted a little until the small teeth showed white beyond their
red fullness.

In her too-tight, boyish blouse, gaping at the throat, she stood there
in the middle of the room, hands bracketed on delicate hips, and
smiled at him. And behind her the lamp in its socket on the wall
smoked a trifle from a too-high wick.

Old Jerry stood and gazed at her, one hand still clutching the door
latch. In one great illuminating flash he saw it all--understood just
what it meant--and with that understanding a hot wave of rage began to
well up within him--a fierce and righteous wrath, borne of all that
day's unnecessary agony and those last few minutes of fear.

It was a hoax on her part. She had been trifling with him the day
before, just as she had been playing fast and loose with his peace of
mind for days. An ejaculation bordering close upon actual profanity
trembled upon his lips, but a draft of cold air sweeping in at the
open doorway set the lamp flickering wildly and brought him back a
little to himself. His eyes went again to the girl in the middle of
the floor. She was rocking to and fro upon the balls of her feet,
every inch of her fairly pulsing with mocking, malicious delight.

She waited for him to speak, and he, stiff of back and grim of face,
stood stonily silent. She seemed all innocently unaware of his
unconcealed disgust. The quizzical smile only widened before the
chilly threat of his beady eyes and ruffled forehead. And then,