Police Constable Stalker was not numbered with the believers. Whether it was that Inman’s scepticism had influenced him or that the evidence was not of the kind that is accepted in a police-court, he remained as scornful and sceptical as Swithin himself. When his detractors ventured to suggest that it was his business to lay the ghost or lay hands on it he had one ready reply that reduced them to silence— “A man can’t be everywhere at once!” he said. “We shall have to see if we can’t arrange for a few ‘specials!’” It was not until January had usurped February’s prerogative by filling the dykes to overflowing that the weather moderated. Three days of brilliant sunshine ushered in the year’s second month: three spring-like days when the grass beside the swollen river lost its grey winterly look and lay yellow-green in the warm sunlight. Nancy, her well-shawled baby in her arms, left her home in the early afternoon to walk for a while in the crisp, sweetly-scented air. The footbridge near the house was under water so she turned down the road and crossed the green in front of the “Packhorse,” at that hour deserted of customers. From the doorway of the inn Albert threw her a pleasant greeting. “A grand day, Nancy! It’s good to see you about again. Have you ought i’ your poke you want to sell?” “You haven’t money enough to buy, Albert,” she replied readily. “Is that so?” he went on with affected astonishment. “These pedigree pups does cost a sight o’ brass, I know!” She smiled and passed on; but the words in their careless humour had struck her heart like a blow. “These pedigree pups!” What was her child’s pedigree? “By James Inman ex Nancy Clegg!” The burden she was carrying that had been so light a moment or so before grew suddenly heavy, and she was conscious of an aching arm. The sunshine that had shed its radiance upon her spirits was blotted out by this leaden cloud, and she was conscious of an aching heart. The wild grandeur of nature, the wind-swept hills that she had thought to look upon with so much pleasure, mocked her with a sense of harshness and stony indifference. They were old—hoary with age: of what concern to them were the sorrows of the puny mortals who came and went in the grey hamlet that sheltered at their feet, and who were soon buried in the earth and forgotten? With what fervent heat she had loved them! how cold they were to her! Mechanically she drew the knitted wrap further across the sleeping child’s face—in order to protect it from the frost the action said; but as her heart told her, so that she might not see her husband’s features reproduced on a smaller scale. Her heart spoke and she listened. Immediately there came a revulsion of feeling as sudden and tempestuous as the gales that leap full-grown from the secret places of the mountains, and she pulled the wrap back and raised the little head to her lips. “My precious!” she said.