There was some difference of opinion. “I don’t ask you to take anything,” said the tramp.... “Nobody won’t catch you.... I tell you nobody won’t catch you.... I tell you there ain’t nobody here to catch you.... Just for the fun of seeing in. I’ll go up by them outhouses. And I’ll see nobody comes.... Ain’t afraid to go up a garden path, are you?... I tell you, I don’t want you to steal.... You ain’t got much guts to funk a thing like that.... I’ll be abät too.... Thought you’d be the very chap for a bit of scarting.... Thought Boy Scarts was all the go nowadays.... Well, if you ain’t afraid you’d do it.... Well, why didn’t you say you’d do it at the beginning?...” Bealby went through the hedge and up a grass track between poultry runs, made a cautious inspection of the outhouses and then approached the cottage. Everything was still. He thought it more plausible to go to the door than peep into the window. He rapped. Then after an interval of stillness he lifted the latch, opened the door and peered into the room. It was a pleasantly furnished room, and before the empty summer fireplace a very old white man was sitting in a chintz-covered arm-chair, lost it would seem in painful thought. He had a peculiar grey shrunken look, his eyes were closed, a bony hand with the shiny texture of alabaster gripped the chair arm.... There was something about him that held Bealby quite still for a moment. And this old gentleman behaved very oddly. His body seemed to crumple into his chair, his hands slipped down from the arms, his head nodded forwards and his mouth and eyes seemed to open together. And he made a snoring sound.... For a moment Bealby remained rigidly agape and then a violent desire to rejoin the tramp carried him back through the hen runs.... He tried to describe what he had seen. “Asleep with his mouth open,” said the tramp. “Well, that ain’t anything so wonderful! You _got_ anything? That’s what I want to know.... Did anyone ever see such a boy? ’Ere! I’ll go.... “You keep a look out here,” said the tramp. But there was something about that old man in there, something so strange and alien to Bealby, that he could not remain alone in the falling twilight. He followed the cautious advances of the tramp towards the house. From the corner by the outhouses he saw the tramp go and peer in at the open door. He remained for some time peering, his head hidden from Bealby.... Then he went in.... Bealby had an extraordinary desire that somebody else would come. His soul cried out for help against some vaguely apprehended terror. And in the very moment of his wish came its fulfilment. He saw advancing up the garden path a tall woman in a blue serge dress, hatless and hurrying and carrying a little package—it was medicine—in her hand. And with her came a big black dog. At the sight of Bealby the dog came forward barking and Bealby after a moment’s hesitation turned and fled.