the margin of the neighboring pool. A few big alders grew beside its
edge, sending down their roots into deep water; but for the most part
the bank was supported by timbers driven into the soil, and freshly laid
with neatly-bedded turf. Grace knew this had been done to protect the
meadow, because the stream is thrown against the concave side when a
pool lies in a bend.

As she stopped at the broken hedge a man ran past carrying a small wet
terrier, and two or three more came up with spades. The otter could not
escape now, since the hounds would watch the underwater entrance to the
cave among the alder roots, while the terrier would crawl down from the
other side. If a hole could not be found, the men would dig. They were
interrupted soon after they began, for somebody said, "Put down your
spade, Tom. Hold the terrier."

Grace studied the man who had interfered. He was young and on the whole
attractive. His face was honest and sunburned; he carried himself well,
and was dressed rather neatly in knickerbockers and shooting jacket. She
knew Christopher Askew was the son of a neighboring farmer, who owned his
land. Then, as the men stopped digging, Thorn pushed past.

"What's this?" he asked haughtily. "Why have you meddled?"

Askew looked hard at him, but answered in a quiet voice, "It cost us some
trouble to mend the bank, and if you dig out the otter the stream will
soon make an ugly gap."

"Then it's a matter of the cost!" said Thorn. "How much?"

"Not altogether," Askew replied, coloring. "It's a matter of the damage