give it a wide berth."

Key turned towards Collinson as if to speak, but apparently changed his
mind, and presently joined his companions, who were already rolling
themselves in their blankets, in a series of wooden bunks or berths,
ranged as in a ship's cabin, around the walls of a resinous, sawdusty
apartment that had been the measuring room of the mill. Collinson
disappeared,--no one knew or seemed to care where,--and, in less than
ten minutes from the time that they had returned from the door, the
hush of sleep and rest seemed to possess the whole house. There was no
light but that of the fire in the front room, which threw flickering
and gigantic shadows on the walls of the three empty chairs before it.
An hour later it seemed as if one of the chairs were occupied, and a
grotesque profile of Collinson's slumbering--or meditating--face and
figure was projected grimly on the rafters as though it were the
hovering guardian spirit of the house. But even that passed presently
and faded out, and the beleaguering darkness that had encompassed the
house all the evening began to slowly creep in through every chink and
cranny of the rambling, ill-jointed structure, until it at last
obliterated even the faint embers on the hearth. The cool fragrance of
the woodland depths crept in with it until the steep of human warmth,
the reek of human clothing, and the lingering odors of stale human
victual were swept away in that incorruptible and omnipotent breath.
An hour later--and the wilderness had repossessed itself of all.

Key, the lightest sleeper, awoke early,--so early that the dawn
announced itself only in two dim squares of light that seemed to grow
out of the darkness at the end of the room where the windows looked out
upon the valley. This reminded him of his woodland vision of the night
before, and he lay and watched them until they brightened and began to
outline the figures of his still sleeping companions. But there were
faint stirrings elsewhere,--the soft brushing of a squirrel across the
shingled roof, the tiny flutter of invisible wings in the rafters, the
"peep" and "squeak" of baby life below the floor. And then he fell
into a deeper sleep, and awoke only when it was broad day.

The sun was shining upon the empty bunks; his companions were already
up and gone. They had separated as they had come together,--with the
light-hearted irresponsibility of animals,--without regret, and
scarcely reminiscence; b