There was a bundle of straw and leaves and branches and other lumber in the corner behind the woman, and her eyes were often turned to it, wondering, I thought, what it might conceal. I felt a thrill of delight to know that if she thought I was hidden there she would have a fine disappointment when she looked for me; for look for me I knew she would, so convinced had I become that she was wondering where I was hidden. For if she was hunting for my father she must know that I should be with him. And sometimes she gazed at the cloak hung over the window; perhaps I was there. And sometimes at the coat that concealed my hiding-place; but it hung flat against the wall, and she couldn't know of the hole behind it. I triumphed in my security with all the joy that I had learnt from the exciting games of hide-and-seek which I had played with my father. I nearly laughed aloud when the old crone, unable to restrain her curiosity, so it seemed to me, rose shivering, and diving her hands into the pile of lumber seized an armful of wood and threw it on the fire. She returned to her place, still whimpering, but more angrily than before and with greater vigour. My father only chuckled softly, and subsided into snarlings as though the affair hadn't disturbed him. But I knew he had noted it. How it was that with nothing happening the atmosphere grew more strained with each moment I can't explain. I felt that something was bound to happen, and it would come quickly. I became more and more convinced that the old woman was searching for me; but the knowledge was exhilarating, not frightening. I was used to being hunted, and knew the thrill of hiding. And then my father was there to protect me if the game became too serious.