They went strolling off through the beech glades, the strong, hairy, heavy-jawed man, the muscular but more lightly built woman and the child, perched firmly and chattering blithely upon her shoulder as they walked, or, rather, half trotted along the river side and toward the cave. They were light of foot and light of thought, but there was ever that almost unconscious alertness appertaining to their time. Their flexible ears twitched, and turned, now forward now backward, to catch the slightest sound. Their nostrils were open for dangerous scents, or for the scent of that which might give them food, either animal or vegetable, and as for the eyes, well, they were the sharpest existent within the history of the human race. They were keen of vision at long distance and close at hand, and ever were they in motion, swiftly turned sidewise this way and that, peering far ahead or looking backward to note what enemies of the wood might be upon the trail. So, swiftly along the glade and ever alert, went the father and mother of Ab, carrying the strong child with them. There came no new alarm, and soon the cave was reached, though on the way there was a momentary deviation from the path, to gather up the nuts and berries the woman had found in the afternoon while the babe was lying sleeping. The fruitage was held in a great leaf, a pliant thing pulled together at the edges, tied stoutly with a strand of tough grass, and making a handy pouch containing a quart or two of the food, which was the woman's contribution to the evening meal. As for the father, he had more to offer, as was evident when the cave was reached.