Then men began to watch for it, but somehow it seemed to evade most of them, and for some time, solitary statements were all that could be obtained with reference to it.
“What do you make of it, Alan?” asked Desmond one day, after it had been seen by three different witnesses at the same time and in the same direction.
“I don’t know. Every one is not a liar, and at the same time every one cannot suffer from a like optical delusion. Every one who has seen this phenomenon agrees in every detail about its appearance.”
“Yes, even the children,” supplemented Desmond.
“Let’s go for a walk,” yawned his cousin. “I feel very tired to-day.”
Mrs. Warren watched them going toward the gate with apprehension in her eyes, and just as they were about to pass through, she rushed to the door. “Be you agoin’ out? Oh, do’ant ’ee go—do’ant ’ee—not to-night! I be afeared—mortal afeared.”
“Oh, we’ll take care of ourselves,” laughed Desmond. “Don’t you worry.”
“But I’m afeared.” She shivered as she spoke—but the boys laughed as they walked toward the Corlot Woods, a favourite spot of theirs.
As they crossed the stile leading to the path across the fields, they heard a dog crying pitifully. Alan, always tender-hearted towards dumb animals, stopped and looked round. Again came the mournful cry. “I think it must be across the way,” said Desmond. Alan crossed the road, and then called out to his cousin.
“It’s Slater’s pup”—he bent over it closely—“Why its leg is broken and its fur is singed,” he added in an awe-struck tone.