it David had built a sort of pier of stones over the mire. To-day he had filled one bucket and carried it to the bank and was filling the second when a slight sound in the alders to the left caused him to glance swiftly. That something had moved there he was certain, and it seemed that his eyes had glimpsed it, and yet it was gone before he could be sure of the latter. He had an impression of something brown or leather-hued between the trees which might well have been an old fox. He listened intently and searched the thicket with his gaze, but no other sound reached him, and presently he lifted the bucket and picked his way across the stones to the firm ground. There the sensation of being watched came to him strongly, so that the skin at the back of his neck prickled, and he wheeled quickly and again scanned the swamp. A bird fluttering amongst the alders caused his heart to jump and he laughed at himself and took up his buckets.
“’Tis this talk of Indians,” he muttered as he made his way along the path he had worn to the clearing. “I am as fluttery as a hen!”
He was a scant three paces from the edge of the thicket when the noise of a snapping
