Adventure Magazine Cover — page 116: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

872 II IT WAS as late as ten o’clock on the C F May night and Assynton village had been long abed. ‘There was no moon, but the stars were bright in a clear, dark sky. From the gardens of the manor- house Mr. Gabriel Rymingtowne came cross- ing the home meadow to the river. He was slight and erect, light of foot for a man whose beard was white. He crossed the plank bridge and took the upward path. When he was out of sight round the shoul- der of the down the shepherd came from the hazel copse. For a little while he was on the middle of the bridge, on hands and knees, looming in the dark like a huge uncouth beast. A gap yawned over the swift eddying water, there was a dull clatter of wood, and the planks were set to'yield to the first step. He rose and tried them with his foot; then turned and followed Mr. Rymingtowne. And now, for all his clumsy bulk he moved very quickly and without a sound. Flat on his stomach on the close turf of the down he looked up at the windmill. The sails of it were gone and it stood a bare tower. Mr. Rymingtowne had put a flat roof on it and there he sat, a cloaked, shape- less figure in the dark, his telescope pointed at the red gleam of Mars. The shepherd plucked a sprig of thyme to chew and com- posed himself for waiting. Midnight had sounded from the church in the valley before Mr. Rymingtowne came back to earth and went homeward. The shepherd lay still and waited a while before he followed. As they went down the steep path the shepherd’s feet sent a flint bounc- ing on ahead. Mr. Rymingtowne turned and cried out: ‘‘Who goes there?” The shepherd jumped aside, fell on hands and knees and tried to hide among the little juniper bushes. He made much noise. * pe lS “ Interested in this strange beast, Mr. * Rymingtowne came placidly up the hill again. He saw the clumsy creature crouch- ing in the shelter of the bushes and delivered a kick where it was invited. A ridiculous grunt repaid him. The shepherd staggered to his feet, rubbing the damaged part. “‘It’s a pleasure to see you, sir,” said Mr. Rym- ingtowne, “but why should I?” The shepherd, with one hand guarding his rear, with the other pulling his forelock, retired backwards. “Be a-looking for a strayed ewe,’’ he muttered. « a fool, to be sure? Adventure ““Do they nest in the junipers?”’ said Mr. Rymingtowne pleasantly. “Sir, am I like a ewe?” ‘““No, if it please God,” the shepherd said humbly. “Being as you’ve a beard.” Mr. Rymingtowne took him by the shoul- der and, as he wriggled away, took him by the ear. ‘‘Diccon, my friend, you are mag- nificently a fool. And is it possible that you think Iam? Do me the honor to walk with me.” By the ear he led the shepherd on and rebuked a whine of pain with: ‘‘ Hush, hush! I know that you yearn for my society. In fact, Diccon, you are but too interested in me and my family. My daughter,” he took a firmer grip of the ear, ‘‘my daughter com- plains that you prowl after her. Now, I resent that.” ‘“‘T never done her no harm,”’ the shepherd whined. ‘““My friend,’’ Mr. Rymingtowne’s voice was more genial than ever, “if you did, there would be one shepherd the less in Assynton.”” He twisted the ear and took the shepherd down the hill faster. ‘But you puzzle me and I do not like it. First you prowl after her and then you prowl after me. Why?” ‘““You ha’ been a-talking to Sir Ralph now,” the shepherd complained. Mr. Rymingtowne was naturally sur- prised. “Sir Ralph? Why, what’s my good cousin to do with this?”’ ‘““He said I was idiot. He said it before Mistress Mary,” the shepherd complained. ‘And if I be a fool, why, I would not have it spoke of neither.” Mr. Rymingtowne laughed. find a modest man. thee idiot, Diccon?”’ The shepherd gave a queer, grumbling snigger. ‘‘Being as I was more a fool than he needed, beiike—or not somuch. What’s ’Tis a fox that goes to ground.” He muttered to himself and edged away. They were down upon level ground and drew near the bridge. ‘At last I MR. RYMINGTOWNE went on laughing. ‘Why, sir, you philoso- phize. But I think you do not ex- plain why you prowl.” The shepherd jerked himself free, crying: ‘“‘No, no, I will not go over the bridge!”’ Mr. Rymingtowne, with an Italian ex- clamation, snatched his ear again: “Sir, you are a very treasury of mysteries! And why, CoMmiclbook But why did he call ©