The dawn broke over Boarzell like a reconciliation. The clamouring voices of wind and trees were still, and only a low sobbing came now and then from the woods. In the sky pale streamers of rose barred and striped a spreading violet. One or two clouds flew low, and slowly pilled themselves, scattering into the fields. On every blade of grass and twig of thorn, on every leaf and spine, glimmered pearls of rain, washing the air with a faint scent of stagnant water, perfuming it with the steams of sodden grass.

Reuben crept out of his thorn cavern and looked down the slope. At the bottom by Socknersh one or two lanterns moved through the dusk. He stiffly threw up his arm and tried to shout. His throat felt cramped and swollen, and it was not till after one or two attempts that a sound pitifully like a bleat came out of it. A voice answered him from the hollow, and then he saw that they were carrying something. He limped painfully down to them. Richard, Boorman, and Handshut carried a hurdle between them, and on the hurdle lay a draggled boy, whose clenched hand clutched a tuft of earth and grass as a victim might clutch a handful of his murderer\'s hair.

"Is he dead?" asked Reuben.

"Yes, m?aster," said Boorman.

Richard\'s mouth twisted in contemptuous silence—Handshut being young and silly was crying.

"He wurn\'t on the new land," continued Boorman, "he\'d fallen into the ditch by Socknersh palings—that\'s why we cudn\'t find un. Reckon as he\'d felt the  fitses coming on un, and tried to git h?ame, pore souly."

"When did you fin............