and freer in what you call the Dark Ages than it is now.
Wait till the Cornish peasant writes a history of Cornwall."

"But what in the world," she demanded, "has this to do with whether
you believe in a tree eating birds?"

"Why should I confess what I believe in?" he said,
a muffled drum of mutiny in his voice. "The gentry came here
and took our land and took our labor and took our customs.
And now, after exploitation, a viler thing, education!
They must take our dreams!"

"Well, this dream was rather a nightmare, wasn't it?"
asked Barbara, smiling; and the next moment grew quite grave,
saying almost anxiously: "But here's Doctor Brown back again.
Why, he looks quite upset."

The doctor, a black figure on the green lawn, was, indeed, coming toward
them at a very vigorous walk. His body and gait very much younger
than his face, which seemed prematurely lined as with worry;
his brow was bald, and projected from the straight, dark hair behind it.
He was visibly paler than when he left the lunch table.

"I am sorry to say, Miss Vane," he said, "that I am
the bearer of bad news to poor Martin, the woodman here.
His daughter died half an hour ago."

"Oh," cried Barbara warmly, "I am SO sorry!"

"So am I," said the doctor, and passed on rather abruptly; he ran