The hoof-prints went towards the village, regardless of obstacles. They approached walls, and appeared again upon the other side without disturbing the fresh snow between, a feat which argued either marvellous jumping powers or the possession of wings. Peter and Mary followed them in great fear, until they saw two men ahead engaged in the same occupation, one of them making merry, the other of a sad countenance, the merry man suggesting that a donkey had been that way, the other declaring it was the devil. "Donkeys ain't got split hoofs," he stated; while his companion indicated a spot where the snow was much ruffled and said cheerfully: "'Tis where he swindged his tail." Nearer the village the white moor was dotted with black figures, all intent upon the weird markings, none doubting who had caused them. The visitant had not passed along the street, but had prowled his way across back gardens, taking hedges and even cottages in his stride. Peter and Mary went on, left the majority of villagers, who were lamenting together as if the visitation was not altogether disagreeable to them, and found themselves presently near Lewside Cottage. Boodles was walking in the snow, hatless, her hands clasped together, her face white and frightened, taking no notice of the hoof-prints which went through the garden, but wandering as if she was trying to find her way somewhere, and had lost herself, and was wondering if she would find any one who would put her on the right road. "She'm mazed," said Peter. "Mebbe her saw him go through." "Aw, my dear, what be ye doing?" called Mary. "Nought on your feet, and your stockings vull o' snow. He never come for yew, my dear. He'm a gentleman, and wun't harm a purty maid. Be'ye mazed, my dear?" "Mary," murmured the child very softly, raising both hands to her radiant head. "Come with me. I'm frightened." "Us wun't let 'en touch ye," cried Mary valiantly. "I'll tak' my gurt stick to 'en if he tries." Boodles caught her big hand and held it tightly. She had not even noticed the footprints. She did not know why all the villagers were out, or what they were doing on the moor. "He won't wake," she said. "I have never known him sleep like this. I called him, and he does not answer. I shook him, and he would not move--and his eggs are hard-boiled by this time." "Bide here, Peter," said Mary shortly.