rning of the ways and the traveller
suddenly changed his destination.

"Come to think of it, I'll go straight on," he said. "That'll save you a
matter o' ten miles, tu. Drive ahead a bit Berry Down way. Theer I'll
leave 'e an' you'll be back home in time to have some fun yet."

The driver, rejoicing at this unhoped diminution of his labours, soon
reached the foot of a rough by-road that ascends to the Moor between the
homesteads of Berry Down and Creber.

Yes Tor now arose on the left under its cap of flame, and the wayfarer,
who carried no luggage, paid his fare, bid the other "good-night," and
then vanished into the darkness.

He passed between the sleeping farms, and only watch-dogs barked out of
the silence, for Gidleigh folks were all abroad that night. Pressing
onwards, the native hurried to Scorhill, then crossed the Teign below
Batworthy Farm, passed through the farmyard, and so proceeded to the
common beneath Yes Tor. He whistled as he went, then stopped a moment to
listen. The first drone of music and remote laughter reached his ear. He
hurried onwards until a gleam lighted his face; then he passed through
the ring of beasts, still glaring fascinated around the fire; and
finally he pushed among the people.

He stood revealed and there arose a sudden whisper among some who knew
him, but whom he knew not. One or two uttered startled cries at this
apparition, for all associated the newcomer with events and occurrences
widely remote from the joy of the hour. How he came among them now, and
what event made it possible for him to stand in their midst a free man,
not the wisest could guess.

A name was carried from mouth to mouth, then shouted aloud, then greeted
with a little cheer. It fell upon Mr. Blee's ear as he prepared to start
homewards; and scarcely had the sound of it set him gasping when a big
man grew out of the flame and shadow and stood before him with extended
hand.

"Burnish it all! You! Be it Blanchard or the ghost of un?"

"The man hisself--so big as bull's beef, an' so free as thicky fire!"
said Will.

Riotous joy sprang and bubbled in his voice. He gripped Billy's hand
till the old man jumped and wriggled.

"Free! Gude God! Doan't tell me you've brawke loose--doan't 'e say that!
Christ! if you haven't squashed my hand till theer's no feeling in it!
Doan't 'e say you've runned away?"

"No such thing," answered Will, now the centre of a little crowd. "I'll
tell 'e, sawls all, if you mi