“Is she dead, father?” asked Jack, in an awe-stricken voice, as he clutched his father’s arm, for it was a ghastly sight these two were gazing on in the cold, dark, foggy night, by the weird gleams of their lanterns. “Yes, Jack, yes; do you see who it is? Poor old Dame Hursey, the last person I ever thought to find here, for if anyone knew the Downs it was she. She is dressed in her best, too; she was not out wool-gathering, that is clear,” said the shepherd, slowly. “But what are we to do, father? We can’t leave her here, and we have not found Fairy and Charlie yet.” “We must leave her here for the present, Jack; she is dead, and must have been killed on the spot; I expect Rover will watch by her till we come back. We must separate; you go back to the police station for a stretcher and some men, while I go on and look for these children. I hope and trust they won’t come across this sight; it would give Fairy a terrible fright. Be as quick as you can, Jack, for if the children are not on the Race Hill we shall have to go in another direction. I’ll meet you at the police-station; I shall be back there by the time you have got the poor old dame carried there. Rover, stay here till Jack comes back.” No need to tell Rover twice; he laid down by the body at once, and there he would have remained till doomsday if Jack or his master had not returned before; and Jack, though he by no means liked his task, and would far rather have gone on to look for Fairy, obeyed as promptly as Rover. And where were Fairy and Charlie on this cold, dark November evening in this thick fog? They had not gone to Mount Harry after all, though they had set out with that intention, for as soon as they reached the Brighton-road Fairy had suggested they should go to Brighton instead, and though Charlie, who was rather lazily disposed, hesitated and raised objections, Fairy overthrew them all, and finally succeeded in persuading him to take her. The object of their walk was to pay a visit to a bird-stuffer in Brighton, and find out the price of an eared-grebe which had lately been shot in the neighbourhood, and which this man, as Jack, who had been over two or three times to look at the bird, had told Fairy, was stuffing and mounting. If only the price were reasonable, a better Christmas present for Jack could not be thought of. He would be wild with joy at possessing this bird, which Fairy described to Charlie from a picture Mr. Leslie had of it. Charlie did not care much what the price was, but he was curious to see this wonderful grebe with the ruff round its neck, so he consented to take Fairy. “How much do you think it will be, Charlie?” asked Fairy, as they trudged along the muddy road in the mist. “I don’t know; Gibbons will let us have it ever so much cheaper than anyone else, because Jack so often gives him birds and eggs, and all manner of curiosities. How much can you afford, that is the question?”