oncern as he shinned vigorously down
the trunk and returned across the wood for his companion.

CHAPTER IV

A GREENWOOD COMPANY

Matcham was well rested and revived; and the two lads, winged by what
Dick had seen, hurried through the remainder of the outwood, crossed the
road in safety, and began to mount into the high ground of Tunstall
Forest. The trees grew more and more in groves, with healthy places in
between, sandy, gorsy, and dotted with old yews. The ground became more
and more uneven, full of pits and hillocks. And with every step of the
ascent the wind still blew the shriller, and the trees bent before the
gusts like fishing-rods.

They had just entered one of the clearings, when Dick suddenly clapped
down upon his face among the brambles, and began to crawl slowly
backward towards the shelter of the grove. Matcham, in great
bewilderment, for he could see no reason for this flight, still imitated
his companion's course; and it was not until they had gained the harbour
of a thicket that he turned and begged him to explain.

For all reply, Dick pointed with his finger.

At the far end of the clearing, a fir grew high above the neighbouring
wood, and planted its black shock of foliage clear against the sky. For
about fifty feet above the ground the trunk grew straight and solid like
a column. At that level, it split into two massive boughs; and in the
fork, like a mastheaded seaman, there stood a man in a green tabard,
spying far and wide. The sun glistened upon his hair; with one hand he
shaded his eyes to look abroad, and he kept slowly rolling his head from
side to side, with the regularity of a machine.

The lads exchanged glances.

"Let us try to the left," said Dick. "We had near fallen foully, Jack."

Ten minutes afterwards they struck into a beaten path.

"Here is a piece of forest that I know not," Dick remarked. "Where goeth
me this track?"

"Let us even try," said Matcham.

A few yards farther, the path came to the top of a ridge and began to go
down abruptly into a cup-shaped hollow. At the foot, out of a thick wood
of flowering hawthorn, two or three roofless gables, blackened as if by
fire, and a single tall chimney marked the ruins of a house.

"What may this be?" whispered Matcham.

"Nay, by the mass, I know not," answered Dick. "I am all at sea. Let us
go warily."

With beating hearts, they descended through the hawthorns. Here and
there, they passed signs of recent cu