me back at last. He has been called the
Father of all the Gods, but most of his children have been stillborn."

Sylvia was religious in an honest vaguely devotional kind of way, and
did not like to hear her beliefs spoken of as mere aftergrowths, but it
was at least something new and hopeful to hear Dead Mortimer speak with
such energy and conviction on any subject.

"You don't really believe in Pan?" she asked incredulously.

"I've been a fool in most things," said Mortimer quietly, "but I'm not
such a fool as not to believe in Pan when I'm down here. And if you're
wise you won't disbelieve in him too boastfully while you're in his
country."

It was not till a week later, when Sylvia had exhausted the attractions
of the woodland walks round Yessney, that she ventured on a tour of
inspection of the farm buildings. A farmyard suggested in her mind a
scene of cheerful bustle, with churns and flails and smiling
dairymaids, and teams of horses drinking knee-deep in duck-crowded
ponds. As she wandered among the gaunt grey buildings of Yessney manor
farm her first impression was one of crushing stillness and desolation,
as though she had happened on some lone deserted homestead long given
over to owls and cobwebs; then came a sense of furtive watchful
hostility, the same shadow of unseen things that seemed to lurk in the
wooded combes and coppices. From behind heavy doors and shuttered
windows came the restless stamp of hoof or rasp of chain halter, and at
times a muffled bellow from some stalled beast. From a distant corner
a shaggy dog watched her with intent unfriendly eyes; as she drew near
it slipped quietly into its kennel, and slipped out again as
noiselessly when she had passed by. A few hens, questing for food
under a rick, stole away under a gate at her approach. Sylvia felt
that if she had come across any human beings in this wilderness of barn
and byre they would have fled wraith-like from her gaze. At last,
turning a corner quickly, she came upon a living thing that did not fly
from her. Astretch in a pool of mud was an enormous sow, gigantic
beyond the town-woman's wildest computation of swine-flesh, and
speedily alert to resent and if necessary repel the unwonted intrusion.
It was Sylvia's turn to make an unobtrusive retreat. As she threaded
her way past rickyards and cowsheds and long blank walls, she started
suddenly at a strange sound--the echo of a boy's laughter, golden and
equivocal. Jan,