"What is it you are trying to tell me?" asked the boy.
"Will you haunt these beloved woods between here and the Mountain?" asked Mr. Devering mysteriously. "Will you and Prince Fetlar haunt them, and at the end of a week tell me what you see? Say nothing to any other person. You must come alone. You will not be afraid?"
"Afraid, no," said the boy almost with scorn. "All that is past, but what shall I see and hear? Oh! tell me."
"I can tell you no more save this," said Mr. Devering, shaking his head. "You must not soil your lips by falsehood. Your mother told stories when a child. Later on with all her faults she grew to hate a lie. If you are ever to be happy in her presence you must speak the truth and nothing but the truth, and you must not dream, although you will be on a dream quest. Do you understand that, my boy?"
"If I can see my mother," said my young master earnestly, "I shall never tell a lie again. It would be too ungrateful. I am in earnest this time. I swear it."
Mr. Devering was satisfied now and his face glowed as he looked at the boy.
Then taking him by the arm, they both set their faces toward the sawmill in the woods.
I always liked to go there. The ripping and tearing of the wood and the strong smell of sawdust and the jolly young men, who were all trained singers brought from other places at quite an expense by Mr. Devering, made it seem like a visit to a concert hall in the woods.
We heard a sweet tenor voice ringing out as we got near.
"Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree,