"That's a dear," she said, taking a cigarette. "And now,
good-bye."

I watched her retreating figure gloomily.

Berry began to recite 'We are Seven.'



Thursday morning broke cloudless and brilliant. I saw it break.
Reluctantly, of course; I am not in the habit of rising at
cock-crow. But on this occasion I rose because I could not
sleep. When I went to bed on Wednesday night, I lay awake
thinking deeply about what I was to do on the morrow. Daphne
had proved inexorable. My brain, usually so fertile, had become
barren, and for my three days' contemplation of the subject I
had absolutely nothing to show. It was past midnight before I
fell into a fitful slumber, only to be aroused three hours and a
half later by the sudden burst of iniquity with which two or
more cats saw fit to shake the silence of the rose-garden.

As I threw out the boot-jack, I noticed the dawn. And as
further sleep seemed out of the question, I decided to dress and
go out into the woods.

When I slipped out of Knight's Bottom into the sunlit road to
find myself face to face with a Punch and Judy show, I was not
far from being momentarily disconcerted. For a second it
occurred to me that I might be dreaming, but, though I listened