16 EVERYDAY ADVENTURES 



reached a bank all blue and white with enameled 

 innocents. In front of this the camp-fire was always 

 kindled. The Band scattered for fire-wood — but 

 not far, for there were too many lurking shadows 

 among those tree-trunks. At last the fire was laid 

 and lighted. Five minutes later all the powers of 

 darkness fled for their lives before the steady roaring 

 column of smokeless flame that surged up in front 

 of the Band. Followed wassail and feasting galore. 

 Haunches of venison, tasting much like mutton- 

 chops, broiled hissingly at the end of green beech- 

 wood spits. Flagons of Adam's ale were quaffed, and 

 the loving-cup — it was of the folding variety — 

 passed from hand to hand. 



All at once the substantial Tuck heaved himself 

 up to his feet beside the dying fire. There was not a 

 sound in the sleeping forest. Night-folk, wood- 

 folk, water-folk, all were still. Then from the pursed 

 lips of the Friar sounded a long, wavering, mournful 

 call. Again and again it shuddered away across the 

 hills. Suddenly, so far away that at first it seemed 

 an echo, it was answered. Once and twice more the 

 call sounded, and each time the answer was nearer 

 and louder. Something was coming. As the Band 

 listened aghast, around the circle made by the fire- 

 light glided a dark shape with fiery eyes. It realized 

 their worst fears, and with one accord they threw 

 themselves on the Friar, who rocked under the 

 impact. 



"Send it back, Fathie, send it back!" they shouted 

 in chorus. 



