A little distance up the trail, he turned again. This time, he took a path so little worn that nothing but a full moon would have revealed its existence. Arthur struck into it with the air of one who has been there before; followed it with a perfect confidence. At times, it ceased to be a path at all; merged with underbrush and low trees. But he must, on an earlier excursion, have blazed a pioneer way through those obstacles because each time he made without hesitation for the only spot which offered egress; emerged on the other side with the same quiet and dispatch. He went on and on, proceeding with a greatly increased swiftness but with no diminution of his caution. After a while, he came into ordered country. Obviously he had struck the cleared land that, for so many acres, surrounded the Big House. Now he moved like a shadow but at a smart clip. He had the confident air of one familiar with the lay of the land. After a while, he struck a wide avenue of trees--Mr. Westabrook had taught him its French name, an _allee_. This was one of five, all beginning at the Big House and ending with a fountain or a statue. Arthur proceeded under the shade of the trees until he came out near the Big House. Then he swung himself up among the branches of a tree; found a comfortable crotch; seated himself, his back against the trunk. With a forked stick he parted the branches; watched. The moon was riding high now and, as the night was still cloudless, it was pouring white fire over the earth. The great lawn in front of the Big House looked like silvered velvet. Half way down its length, like a jet of shredded crystal, the fountain still played into its white marble basin. Out of reach of its splashing flood, as though moored against its marble sides, four swans, great feathery heaps of snow, slept with their heads under their wings. As Arthur stared a faint perturbation stirred the air, as though somewhere at the side of the house--unseen by him--a motor pulsed to rest. Presently a high, slim dog--Arthur recognized it to be a Russian boar-hound; white, pointed nose, long tail--came sauntering across the lawn. He poked his nose into the basin of the fountain. One of the swans made a strange, low sleepy cry; moved aimlessly about for an instant, then came to rest and to sleep, apart from his companions. The hound moved into the shrubbery; returned to the lawn.