Thomas Gall, constable, was a tall fair man with a mild eye and a cheerful face. Goodwill towards men and plentiful good living had done their work in eradicating from the good man all that stern element which might have been most useful to him in his career, not to say useful to the State. Each rolling year was pricked in his leathern belt with a new hole as his heart grew more peaceful and his body throve. He had a goodly girth and weighed full fifteen stone in his uniform; his mild blue eye had inspired confidence in a maiden of Billingsfield parish and Mrs. Gall was now rearing a numerous family of little Galls, all perhaps destined to become mild-eyed and portly village constables in their turn. The squire, who was not destitute of a sense of humour, never thought of Mr. Gall without a smile, so much out of keeping did the man's occupation seem with his jovial humour. Mr. Gall, he said, was the kind of policeman who would bribe a refractory tramp to move on by the present of a pint of beer. But Gall had a good point. He was very proud of his profession, and in the exercise of it he showed a discretion which, if it was the better part of his valour, argued unlimited natural courage. It was a secret profession, he was wont to say, and a man who could not keep a secret would never do for a constable. He shrouded his ways in an amiable mystery and walked a solitary beat on fine nights; when the nights were not fine there was nobody to see whether he walked his beat or not. Probably, he faithfully fulfilled his obligations; but his constitution seemed to bear exposure to the weather wonderfully well. Whether he ever saw anything worth mentioning upon those lonely walks of his, is uncertain; at all events he never mentioned anything he saw, unless it was in the secrecy of the reports he was supposed to transmit from time to time to his superiors. On the present occasion as he entered the study, the squire observed with surprise that he looked grave. He had never witnessed such a phenomenon before and argued that it was just possible that something of real importance might have occurred. "Good morning, sir," said Mr. Gall, approaching the squire respectfully, after carefully closing the door behind him. "Good morning, Gall. Nothing wrong, I hope?" "Not yet, sir. I hope not, sir. Only a little matter of business, Mr. Juxon. In point of fact, sir, I wished to consult you." "Yes," said the squire who was used to the constable's method of circumlocution. "Yes--what is it?" "Well, sir--it's this," said the policeman, running his thumb round the inside of his belt as though to test the pressure, and clearing his throat. "There has been a general order sent down to be on the lookout, sir. So I thought it would be best to take your opinion." "My opinion," said the squire with great gravity, "is that if you are directed to be on the look-out, you should be on the look-out; by all means. What are you to be on the look-out for?"