And so the droning and the mummery continued; and then the hag, still shivering with cold, rose and twitched down my father's cloak from the window and threw it over her shoulders. Foiled again, I thought, as she crouched back into her place; and my father hissed between his teeth, and made a sudden grab at something in the fire. Then his attention became fixed on the roof, though I could see nothing there, and with complete indifference he left his hand singeing in the flames. I could see the hag watching him, and behind her inscrutable eyes she must have been wondering whether this was a supreme bluff or a genuine piece of idiocy. But my father never winced. Slowly it seemed his attention became drawn to his roasting flesh, while I shuddered at the pain of it. But he looked down on his hand, and then calmly drew it up to his eyes as though dumbly questioning what had been hurting him. And suddenly he looked across at the woman, and with a frightful cry hurled himself at her through the fire. But she was too quick for him, and nimbly avoiding him slipped round to my side of the fire, still ready to spring away if he attacked her again; and while my father blundered stupidly across the hut, and collapsed against the wall, grumbling and shaking, I saw the hag slip a knife back into the folds of her dress. It was real war, I knew then; and my blood sang through my ears. If my father had thought to take her by surprise he had failed. But still there was no motive for the attack except the rage of a lunatic. If she was questioning his identity the secret wasn't betrayed. But I began to fear for myself, for I knew she would find some pretext to whip away the coat that was hiding me, and the tell-tale hole would be revealed. And now she was on my side of the fire. She wouldn't even have to pass my father to get at me. My father must have realized this too, for he seemed to me to be gathering for another spring. And I think the woman knew it, and was determined to peep behind the coat before the tables were again reversed. Her hand crept behind her towards me. Instinctively I clutched at the coat, and felt something hard in the pocket. It was my father's pistol, I knew well; a prohibited toy, but one eagerly desired. I had some idea, as a child will, of playing the hero; and I slipped the pistol from the pocket. It was easily done, for the woman's eyes were on my father, though her hand was creeping ever nearer to the coat. I tugged at the hammer of the great thing, and with difficulty cocked it, and held it with a shaky hand. And then what happened I couldn't see. My attention was on the pistol, when all at once the hut was in an uproar. I think the woman must have clutched at the coat and my father sprung at the same moment. At any rate there was the thud of a body against me, and my hand seemed to be wrenched from my arm, while a splitting roar seemed to burst my head in pieces. I fell back dazed, but rather interested