Now, up at the far end of that lane--let me see, is it on the right- or the left-hand side as you go up?--the left-hand side--you’ll find a little patch of bushes and rough ground in the field, and something like a broken old hedge round about, and you’ll notice there’s some old gooseberry and currant bushes growing among it--or there used to be, for it’s years now since I’ve been up that way. Well, that means there was a cottage stood there, of course; and in that cottage, before I was born or thought of, there lived a man named Davis. I’ve heard that he wasn’t born in the parish, and it’s true there’s nobody of that name been living about here since I’ve known the place. But however that may be, this Mr Davis lived very much to himself and very seldom went to the public-house, and he didn’t work for any of the farmers, having as it seemed enough money of his own to get along. But he’d go to the town on market-days and take up his letters at the post-house where the mails called. And one day he came back from market, and brought a young man with him; and this young man and he lived together for some long time, and went about together, and whether he just did the work of the house for Mr Davis, or whether Mr Davis was his teacher in some way, nobody seemed to know. I’ve heard he was a pale, ugly young fellow and hadn’t much to say for himself. Well, now, what did those two men do with themselves? Of course I can’t tell you half the foolish things that the people got into their heads, and we know, don’t we, that you mustn’t speak evil when you aren’t sure it’s true, even when people are dead and gone. But as I said, those two were always about together, late and early, up on the downland and below in the woods; and there was one walk in particular that they’d take regularly once a month, to the place where you’ve seen that old figure cut out in the hillside; and it was noticed that in the summer-time when they took that walk, they’d camp out all night, either there or somewhere near by. I remember once my father--that’s your great-grandfather--told me he had spoken to Mr Davis about it (for it’s his land he lived on) and asked him why he was so fond of going there, but he only said: “Oh, it’s a wonderful old place, sir, and I’ve always been fond of the old-fashioned things, and when him (that was his man he meant) and me are together there, it seems to bring back the old times so plain.” And my father said, “Well,” he said, “it may suit _you_, but _I_ shouldn’t like a lonely place like that in the middle of the night.” And Mr Davis smiled, and the young man, who’d been listening, said, “Oh, we don’t want for company at such times,” and my father said he couldn’t help thinking Mr Davis made some kind of sign, and the young man went on quick, as if to mend his words, and said, “That’s to say, Mr Davis and me’s company enough for each other, ain’t we, master? and then there’s a beautiful air there of a summer night, and you can see all