jaguars and lithe lions travel.

"Oh, don't you want some supper?" I called into the moonlight, even
running a few steps after him.

"Parched corn in my pocket--lambs," came fluting back to me from the
shadows.

"Supper am sarved, little Mis'," Rufus announced from the hack door, as I
stood still looking and listening into the night.

"Uncle Cradd," I asked eagerly at the end of the food prayer that the old
gentleman had offered after seating me with ceremony behind a steaming
silver coffee urn of colonial pattern, of which I had heard all my life,
"who is that remarkable man?"




CHAPTER III


"Si Beesley? Spare rib, dear?" was his disappointing but hospitable, answer
in two return questions to my anxious inquiries about the Pan who had come
out of the woods at my need.

"No; I mean--mean, didn't you call him Adam?"

"Nobody knows. Now, William, a spare rib and a muffin is real nourishment
after the nightingale's tongues and snails you've been living on for