"And these little boys are going to be out all night?" asked Ranulph in an awed voice. "That they are! And a fine time they'll have of it too. They build themselves little huts out of branches and light fires in them. Oh, they enjoy themselves." The children grinned from ear to ear; and when Hazel had provided each of them with some bread and cheese they scuttled off into the gathering dusk. "I'd like to go some night, too," said Ranulph. The widow was beginning to expostulate against the idea of young Master Chanticleer's spending the night out of doors with cows and village children, when Endymion Leer said, decidedly, "That's all nonsense! I don't want my patient coddled ... eh! Ranulph? I see no reason why he shouldn't go some night if it amuses him. But wait till the nights are warmer." He paused just a second, and added, "towards Midsummer, let us say." They sat on a little longer; saying but little, yawning a great deal. And then the widow suggested that they should all go off to bed. There were home-made tallow candles provided for everyone, except Ranulph, whose social importance was emphasised by a wax one from Lud. Endymion Leer lit it for him, and then held it at arm's length and contemplated its flame, his head on one side, eyes twinkling. "Thrice blessed little herb!" he began in a whimsical voice. "Herb o' grease, with thy waxen stem and blossom of flame! Thou art more potent against spells and terrors and the invisible menace than fennel or dittany or rue. Hail! antidote to the deadly nightshade! Blossoming in the darkness, thy virtues are heartsease and quiet sleep. Sick people bless thee, and women in travail, and people with haunted minds, and all children." "Don't be a buffoon, Leer," said the widow roughly; in quite a different voice from the one of bluff courtesy in which she had hitherto addressed him. To an acute observer it would have suggested that they were in reality more intimate than they cared to show. * * * * * For the first time in his life Luke Hempen had difficulty in getting off to sleep. His great-aunt had dinned into him for the past week, with many a menacing shake of her old fist, that should anything happen to Master Ranulph she would hold him, Luke, responsible, and even before leaving Lud the honest, but by no means heroic, lad, had been in somewhat of a panic; and the various odd little incidents that had taken place that evening were not of a nature to reassure him. Finally he could stand it no longer. So up he got, lit his candle, and crept down the attic stairs and along the corridor to Ranulph's room. Ranulph, too, was wide awake. He had not put out his candle, and was lying staring up at the fantastic ceiling. "What do you want, Luke?" he cried peevishly. "Why won't anyone ever leave me alone?" "I was just wondering if you were all right, sir," said Luke apologetically.