and bring you safely home," said Mr. Wicker.
"Be on the lookout for this lad, Ned, when you get past the bar."

[Illustration]

"We shall," Ned whispered back, "and good luck to the two of ye!"

Clucking to his horse, on wheels covered with rags, and with cloths
about the horse's hoofs to deaden their sound, Ned Cilley and his
hamper went quietly away in the direction of the wharfs. In a moment,
cart, horse, and driver were swallowed up in the denseness of the
night.

A black night it was indeed. Although there was a moon, thick clouds
scudded over it and an autumn wind bent the trees, tearing the leaves
from them. A mist rose from the river, but it was blown away from all
but the most sheltered places.

Mr. Wicker and Chris stood in the silent kitchen. Looking about him,
Chris remembered with a pang the first morning he had seen it, with
Becky in her gaudy hat standing near the fire.

"Come, Christopher," Mr. Wicker bade him, taking up his caped black
cloak and another one for Chris. "First, wind the rope about your
waist, and once on board, bind it under your shirt. Let no one, not
even Amos, know of it."

Chris did as he was told. Mr. Wicker then gave him a leather pouch
hung on a cord.

"Here are some oddments of magic that may prove their usefulness," he
remarked. "Wear them about your neck." So saying he slipped the
leather cord over Chris's head.

"What happens to the rope and pouch when I change my shape, sir?"
Chris asked.

"They will remain with you, have no fear of that," the magician
replied. "What would be the use of magic if it proved unable to adjust
itself?" A smile played over Mr. Wicker's face. "So, all is ready," he
said glancing around. "Now we must be off and lose no time, for we
have much ahead of us," said Mr. Wicker drily, blowing out the candle.

Before he knew it, Chris stood--until what far-off time?--outside Mr.
Wicker's house. His master locked the door. The wind, swooping down
like some great bird, tugged at their cloaks and chilled their faces.

Chris led the way to the creek and the marsh. This time both he and
Mr. Wicker wore high boots which kept the icy water and mud from their
feet.

"What I wouldn't give for a flashlight!" Chris muttered as they came
to the marsh.

"Yes, the twentieth century has many conveniences," Mr. Wicker
replied, and Chris could imagine, behind him, the man's sardonic smile
and amused eyes.

They came out suddenly from the blackness of the