"Daddy, I had to come! Something called me, something--" and as if unable or afraid to give words to the fear in his heart, he sobbed violently in his father's arms. It was in vain that Dean tried to sooth the child; he shook from head to foot and clutched at his father's hand in wild terror. They carried the sobbing child indoors, and when they had gained the lamplit drawing-room, calmness had once more come over the child. He looked about him and blinked in the brilliant light like one waking from a dream. Price pinched the boy's ear playfully-- "A nightmare, old son, eh?--you've been having too much cake!" "How did you get out of bed?" asked the father, looking anxiously at the boy. "I don't know, Daddy--I can't remember until you found me." It was obvious that the child was speaking the truth. "Well, we can't have you sleep-walking like this, John. You'll frighten your mother to death." "Take the boy up to his room, Dean," said Price. "What a good thing it hasn't roused Mrs. Dean! Come along, I'll show you the way, he's sleeping next to your room." They took the boy upstairs and placed him in his bed. The child was quite calm now and his head sank on the pillow as if heavy with sleep. For a minute Dean waited in the room and then stooped over the bed. "Will you be all right now, John?" But there was no answer for John was already fast asleep again, his head buried in the pillow. The two men tip-toed silently out of the room. When they had gained the verandah Price mixed himself a whiskey and soda. "Drink?" he asked, with an ill-concealed attempt to be at his ease. "No thanks." There was a long silence; the two men were thinking. Price knocked the ash off his cigarette and watched its end until the glow died down. "Is John subject to those--er--to sleep-walking?" he asked at length, making his enquiry as casual as possible. "No, he's not. I have never known him to do this before." "H'm, perhaps the journey's upset him--the excitement; children are easy victims of nightmare." "Yes--do you think it was nightmare?" asked Dean. His tone plainly conveyed the belief that he thought otherwise. "Of course!--why not?--the child has no reason for going down the garden." "Where does the path lead?" "To the river--there's a footway into the town--it cuts off the bend in the road." "To the town?--towards the drum?" Price started. Dean had noticed then! He gave a short laugh, and got up and stretched his arms. "Perhaps you'd like to turn in now?" he asked, and then as if changing his mind, he sat down suddenly. "Look here, Dean," he said earnestly, "I'll be quite frank--it is perhaps better. You've guessed what drew the boy out of his bed?" "The drum?" "Precisely--and you're right, I think, though we may be making a silly mistake. I would never have believed it myself, but it is certainly curious."