The wind often makes its most boisterous effort at that time, before it
drops with the sun, and these two huge branches lay in dark ruin
covering half the lawn. They spread across it and towards the house.
They left an ugly gaping space upon the tree, so that the Lebanon looked
unfinished, half destroyed, a monster shorn of its old-time comeliness
and splendor. Far more of the Forest was now visible than before; it
peered through the breach of the broken defenses. They could see from
the windows of the house now--especially from the drawing-room and
bedroom windows--straight out into the glades and depths beyond.

Mrs. Bittacy's niece and nephew, who were staying on a visit at the
time, enjoyed themselves immensely helping the gardeners carry off the
fragments. It took two days to do this, for Mr. Bittacy insisted on the
branches being moved entire. He would not allow them to be chopped;
also, he would not consent to their use as firewood. Under his
superintendence the unwieldy masses were dragged to the edge of the
garden and arranged upon the frontier line between the Forest and the
lawn. The children were delighted with the scheme. They entered into it
with enthusiasm. At all costs this defense against the inroads of the
Forest must be made secure. They caught their uncle's earnestness, felt
even something of a hidden motive that he had; and the visit, usually
rather dreaded, became the visit of their lives instead. It was Aunt
Sophia this time who seemed discouraging and dull.

"She's got so old and funny," opined Stephen.

But Alice, who felt in the silent displeasure of her aunt some secret
thing that alarmed her, said:

"I think she's afraid of the woods. She never comes into them with us,