ood; and though Vane could not see them he knew that
they were there.

Again there was the soft rustling movement of a leaf, and then of
another a short distance away on the other side of his head. And Vane
smiled as he lay there on his back staring up at the overhanging boughs
through which now and then he could catch sight of a fine bright ray.

For he knew that sound well enough. It was made by great earth worms
which reached out of their holes in the cool, moist darkness, feeling
about for a soft leaf which they could seize with their round looking
mouths, hold tightly, and draw back after them into the hole from which
their tails had not stirred.

Vane lay listening to this till he was tired, and then waited for some
other sound of the night.

It was not long in coming--a low, soft, booming buzz of some beetle,
which sailed here and there, now close by, now so distant that its hum
was almost inaudible, but soon came nearer again till it was right over
his head, when there was a dull flip, then a tap on the dry beech-mast.

"Cockchafer," said Vane softly, and he knew that it had blundered up
against some twig and fallen to earth, where, though he could not see
it, he knew that it was lying upon its back sprawling about with its
awkward-looking legs, vainly trying to get on to them again and start
upon another flight.

Once more there was silence, broken only by a faint, fine hum of a gnat,
and the curious wet crackling or rustling sound which rose from the
leaves.

Then Vane smiled, for in the distance there was a resonant, "Hoi, hoi,"
such as might have been made by people come in search of him. But he
knew better, as the shout rose up, and nearer and nearer still at
intervals, for it was an owl sailing along on its soft, silent pinions,
the cry being probably to startle a bird from its roost or some
unfortunate young bird or mouse into betraying its whereabouts, so that
a feathered leg might suddenly be darted down to seize, with four keen
claws all pointing to one centre, and holding with such a powerful grip
that escape was impossible.

The owl passed through the dark shadowy aisles, and its cry was heard
farther and farther away till it died out; but there was no sense of
loneliness in the beech-wood. There was always something astir.

Now it was a light tripping sound of feet over the dead leaves, the
steps striking loudly on the listener's ear. Then they ceased, as if
the animal which made the