The new musician, playing on a pipe, started off with rather a doleful air, but he soon livened up, and very quickly the dancers were whirling round and round in the maddest abandon. But to their consternation as they grew tired, and wished to stop, they found they were unable to do so. The more weary they became, the harder the piper played, and when they begged him to cease he merely laughed at them and changed his tune to one yet more lively. At last dawn began to show in the sky, and the now frenzied and terrified dancers saw their musician remove the pipe from his mouth. But they saw, too, when he got up, that he had a club foot, and that beneath his long gown a tail showed. The moment he ceased to play, the dancers remained fixed in strange attitudes, quite unable to move. “I will return later and play for you again,” said the Fiend as he walked away, uttering horrible laughter. But he has not yet returned, and later that morning the villagers found the fields, where the wedding party had been held, strewn with huge upright stones, many of which remain to this day. And they say that there they will stand until the devil returns to play his evil tune; then the stones will become men and women again and will take up once more their mad dance. If you doubt this moral story, go to Stanton Drew and see the strange stones for yourself--and suggest in what other way they could have come there. You may reach Stanton Drew from Pensford station on the line between Bristol and Frome. You will find it in a pleasant little valley in a hilly upland country, and not far away Maensknoll Tump, nearly 700 feet high, the loftiest point of Dundry Hill, surrounded by the grim earthworks of some of our earliest ancestors. Bristol, that great city of the west, with its centuries of history and romance, its memories of the daring Merchant Adventurers and its fine churches, is a good centre from which to reach this district. Or you may go from Frome, that queer busy little town with its narrow medieval streets straggling up and down hill. All the country round here is full of interest to the lover of nature or antiquity. It is a country of mild airs, where in the sheltered valleys the flowers bloom amazingly early. Yet the average tourist seldom wanders off the beaten track to enjoy this pleasing stretch of rural England. [Illustration: _The Druid Stones at Stanton Drew._] [Illustration: Masked man leading blindfolded nurse up a staircase.] THE STORY OF WILD DARRELL. There is a strange story told of Littlecote Manor, a glorious old Tudor mansion that lies not far from the pleasant little Berkshire town of Hungerford. This, in Elizabeth’s time, was the ancestral home of the Darrells; but “Wild Darrell,” the last of them to hold it, had to sacrifice the place to save his wicked life. At least so the old tales tell.