On the morrow my father, not a little to my surprise, appeared to be in a particularly cheerful tome of mind. At breakfast time he remarked that the day looked well for fishing, and asked me whether I would not like to go. Of course I consented willingly, and William, our man, or rather boy-of-all-work, was sent down to Mr. Cox, with whom I used generally to read in the morning, with my father's compliments and my excuses. What sport we had all day long! We waded knee deep, sometimes waist high, down the Badgeworthy stream, following its gleaming course past Lorna's bower, past waterslide, which I never looked upon without thinking of John Ridd's description, and round the green hills of the Doone valley as far as the bend of the stream. It was a long ride home, and across a desolate country. I think that I should have gone to sleep in the saddle I was so tired, but for the stern necessity of picking our way carefully along what was nothing better than a sheep-walk. I remember that night-ride well. Suddenly my father pulled his pony almost on its haunches, and instinctively William and I did the same. "Listen!" he cried. I bent down and listened intently. "I hear nothing," I remarked, gathering up my reins, for I was desperately hungry and cold. My father held up his hand to bid me stay, and then turning towards the inland stretch of moor, shouted, "Hulloa there! Hulloa! Hulloa!" We listened, and, to my surprise, we heard almost immediately an answering shout, faint and evidently a long way off, but distinctly a man's hail. It was scarcely safe to leave the track, so we stopped where we were, and all three shouted. And, sure enough, in less than five minutes we heard the sound of galloping hoofs, and a tall, stately-looking man came riding out of the mist mounted on a fine bay horse which seemed to have been up to its girths in a morass, and which was trembling in every limb. "I'm uncommonly glad to see you, gentlemen, whoever you are," he exclaimed, riding up to us. "For close upon three hours have I been trying to come upon a path, or a road, or a track, or something that led somewhere, and have only succeeded in losing myself more completely. Curse these mists! How far am I from Luccombe Hall?" To my surprise my father made no answer, and when I looked towards him he was sitting bolt upright in his saddle, with his eyes riveted upon the stranger. So I answered his question. "If you mean Sir Frederick Lawson's place, it's about nine miles off. We are going that way." The stranger thanked me heartily, and moved his horse to the side of mine. And then happened the strangest thing which I had ever seen. My father, who was the most courteous and gentlest-mannered man I ever came near, rose suddenly in his stirrups, and, without a word, struck the stranger full in the mouth with the back of his hand.