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restless； indifferent； half…contemptuous； he seemed to
withdraw into himself； observing those around him with
half…veiled glances； as if he had nothing better to do and yet
found it a tiresome pastime。 He was like a man waiting
wearily at a railway station for his train。 Nothing pleased
him。 He responded to nothing。
Graham controlled his indignation by a constant effort。
A dozen times he was on the point of speaking out。 But he
restrained himself and played fair。 Dorothy's suffering could
not be hidden。 Her loyalty was strained to the breaking
point。 She was too tender and true for anger； but she was
wounded almost beyond endurance。
Keene's restlessness increased。 The intervening Thursday
was Thanksgiving Day； most of the boys had gone home； the
school had holiday。 Early in the morning he came to me。
〃Let us take our walk to…day。 We have no work to do。
Come！ In this clear； frosty air； Spy Rock will be glorious！〃
〃No；〃 I answered； 〃this is no day for such an expedition。
This is the home day。 Stay here and be happy with us all。
You owe this to love and friendship。 You owe it to Dorothy
Ward。〃
〃Owe it？〃 said he。 〃Speaking of debts； I think each man
is his own preferred creditor。 But of course you can do as
you like about to…day。 Tomorrow or Saturday will answer just
as well for our third walk together。〃
About noon he came down from his room and went to the
piano； where Dorothy was sitting。 They talked together in low
tones。 Then she stood up； with pale face and wide…open eyes。
She laid her hand on his arm。
〃Do not go； Edward。 For the last time I beg you to stay
with us to…day。〃
He lifted her hand and held it for an instant。 Then he
bowed； and let it fall。
〃You will excuse me； Dorothy； I am sure。 I feel the need
of exercise。 Absolutely I must go； good…byuntil the
evening。〃
The hours of that day passed heavily for all of us。 There
was a sense of disaster in the air。 Something irretrievable
had fallen from our circle。 But no one dared to name it。
Night closed in upon the house with a changing sky。 All the
stars were hidden。 The wind whimpered and then shouted。 The
rain swept down in spiteful volleys； deepening at last into a
fierce； steady discharge。 Nine o'clock； ten o'clock passed；
and Keene did not return。 By midnight we were certain that
some accident had befallen him。
It was impossible to go up into the mountains in that
pitch…darkness of furious tempest。 But we could send down to
the village for men to organise a search…party and to bring
the doctor。 At daybreak we set outsome of the men going
with the Master along Black Brook； others in different
directions to make sure of a complete searchGraham and the
doctor and I following the secret trail that I knew only too
well。 Dorothy insisted that she must go。 She would bear no
denial； declaring that it would be worse for her alone at
home； than if we took her with us。
It was incredible how the path seemed to lengthen。 Graham
watched the girl's every step； helping her over the difficult
places； pushing aside the tangled branches； his eyes resting
upon her as frankly； as tenderly as a mother looks at her
child。 In single file we marched through the gray morning；
clearing cold after the storm； and the silence was seldom
broken； for we had little heart to talk。
At last we came to the high； lonely ridge； the dwarf
forest； the huge； couchant bulk of Spy Rock。 There； on the back
of it； with his right arm hanging over the edge； was the outline
of Edward Keene's form。 It was as if some monster had seized him
and flung him over its shoulder to carry away。
We called to him but there was no answer。 The doctor
climbed up with me； and we hurried to the spot where he was
lying。 His face was turned to the sky； his eyes blindly
staring； there was no pulse； no breath； he was already cold in
death。 His right hand and arm； the side of his neck and face
were horribly swollen and livid。 The doctor stooped down and
examined the hand carefully。 〃See！〃 he cried； pointing to a
great bruise on his wrist； with two tiny punctures in the
middle of it from which a few drops of blood had oozed； 〃a
rattlesnake has struck him。 He must have fairly put his hand
upon it； perhaps in the dark； when he was climbing。 And；
look； what is this？〃
He picked up a flat silver box； that lay open on the rock。
There were two olive…green pellets of a resinous paste in it。
He lifted it to his face； and drew a long breath。
〃Yes；〃 he said； 〃it is Gunjab； the most powerful form of
Hashish； the narcotic hemp of India。 Poor fellow； it saved
him from frightful agony。 He died in a dream。〃
〃You are right；〃 I said； 〃in a dream； and for a dream。〃
We covered his face and climbed down the rock。 Dorothy
and Graham were waiting below。 He had put his coat around
her。 She was shivering a little。 There were tear…marks on
her face。
〃Well；〃 I said； 〃you must know it。 We have lost him。〃
〃Ah！〃 said the girl； 〃I lost him long ago。〃
WOOD…MAGIC
There are three vines that belong to the ancient forest。
Elsewhere they will not grow； though the soil prepared for
them be never so rich； the shade of the arbour built for them
never so closely and cunningly woven。 Their delicate；
thread…like roots take no hold upon the earth tilled and
troubled by the fingers of man。 The fine sap that steals
through their long； slender limbs pauses and fails when they
are watered by human hands。 Silently the secret of their life
retreats and shrinks away and hides itself。
But in the woods； where falling leaves and crumbling
tree…trunks and wilting ferns have been moulded by Nature into
a deep； brown humus； clean and fragrantin the woods； where
the sunlight filters green and golden through interlacing
branches； and where pure moisture of distilling rains and
melting snows is held in treasury by never…failing banks of
mossunder the verdurous flood of the forest； like sea…weeds
under the ocean waves； these three little creeping vines put
forth their hands with joy； and spread over rock and hillock and
twisted tree…root and mouldering log； in cloaks and scarves and
wreaths of tiny evergreen； glossy leaves。
One of them is adorned with white pearls sprinkled lightly
over its robe of green。 This is Snowberry； and if you eat of
it； you will grow wise in the wisdom of flowers。 You will
know where to find the yellow violet； and the wake…robin； and
the pink lady…slipper； and the scarlet sage； and the fringed
gentian。 You will understand how the buds trust themselves to
the spring in their unfolding； and how the blossoms trust
themselves to the winter in their withering； and how the busy
bands of Nature are ever weaving the beautiful garment of life
out of the strands of death； and nothing is lost that yields
itself to her quiet handling。
Another of the vines of the forest is called Partridge…berry。
Rubies are hidden among its foliage； and if you eat of this
fruit； you will grow wise in the wisdom of birds。 You will know
where the oven…bird secretes her nest； and where the wood…cock
dances in the air at night； the drumming…log of the ruffed grouse
will be easy to find； and you will see the dark lodges of the
evergreen thickets inhabited by hundreds of warblers。 There will
be no dead silence for you in the forest； any longer； but you
will hear sweet and delicate voices on every side； voices that
you know and love； you will catch the key…note of the silver
flute of the woodthrush； and the silver harp of the veery； and
the silver bells of the hermit； and something in your heart will
answer to them all。 In the frosty stillness of October nights
you will see the airy tribes flitting across the moon； following
the secret call that guides them southward。 In the calm
brightness of winter sunshine； filling sheltered copses with
warmth and cheer； you will watch the lingering blue…birds and
robins and song…sparrows playing at summer； while the chickadees
and the juncos and the cross…bills make merry in the windswept
fields。 In the lucent mornings of April you will hear your old
friends coming home to you； Phoebe； and Oriole； and
Yellow…Throat； and Red…Wing； and Tanager； and Cat…Bird。 When
they call to you and greet you； you will understand that Nature
knows a secret for which man has never found a wordthe secret
that tells itself in song。
The third of the forest…vines is Wood…Magic。 It bears neither
flower nor fruit。 Its leaves are hardly to be distinguished
from the leaves of the other vines。 Perhaps they are a little
rounder than the Snowberry's； a little more pointed than the
Partridge…berry's； sometimes you might mistake them for the
one； sometimes for the other。 No marks of warning have been
written upon them。 If you find them it is your fortune； if
you taste them it is your fate。
For as you browse your way through the forest； nipping
here and there a rosy leaf of young winter…green； a fragrant
emerald tip of balsam…fir； a twig of spicy birch； if by chance
you pluck the leaves of Wood…Magic and eat them； you will not
know what you have done； but the enchantment of the tree…land
will enter your heart and the charm of the wildwood