shone back the reflex of the midnight stars--and he can immerse himself
in the tending of an incubator. It is horrible and wrong, and yet when I
have met him in the lanes his face has worn a look of tedious
cheerfulness that might pass for happiness. Has Judkin of the Parcels
found something in the lees of life that I have missed in going to and
fro over many waters? Is there more wisdom in his perverseness than in
the madness of the wise? The dear gods know.

I don't think I saw Judkin more than three times all told, and always the
lane was our point of contact; but as the roan mare was taking me to the
station one heavy, cloud-smeared day, I passed a dull-looking villa that
the groom, or instinct, told me was Judkin's home. From beyond a hedge
of ragged elder-bushes could be heard the thud, thud of a spade, with an
occasional clink and pause, as if some one had picked out a stone and
thrown it to a distance, and I knew that _he_ was doing nameless things
to the roots of a pear tree. Near by him, I felt sure, would be lying a
large and late vegetable marrow, and its largeness and lateness would be
a theme of conversation at luncheon. It would be suggested that it
should grace the harvest thanksgiving service; the harvest having been so
generally unsatisfactory, it would be unfair to let the farmers supply
all the material for rejoicing.

And while I was speeding townwards along the rails Judkin would be
plodding his way to the vicarage bearing a vegetable marrow and a
basketful of dahlias. The basket to be returned.

GABRIEL-ERNEST

"There is a wild beast in your woods," said the artist Cunningham, as he
was being driven to the station. It was the only remark he had made
during the drive, but as Van Cheele had talked incessantly his
companion's silence had not been noticeable.

"A stray fox or two and some resident weasels. Nothing more formidable,"
said Van Cheele. The artist said nothing.

"What did you mean about a wild beast?" said Van Cheele later, when they
were on the platform.

"Nothing. My imagination. Here is the train," said Cunningham.

That afternoon Van Cheele went for one of his frequent rambles through
his woodland property. He had a stuffed bittern in his study, and knew
the names of quite a number of wild flowers, so his aunt had possibly
some justification in describing him as a great naturalist. At any rate,
he was a great walker. It was his custom to take mental not