"Well, our antique monster must have been mighty heavy, and the distances
he had to travel were long and the ways difficult. From where we are now
sitting down to the level of the mud-holes is a distance of several
hundred feet--I am leaving out of consideration altogether any lateral
distance. Is it possible that there was a way by which a monster could
travel up and down, and yet no chance recorder have ever seen him? Of
course we have the legends; but is not some more exact evidence necessary
in a scientific investigation?" "My dear Adam, all you say is perfectly right, and, were we starting on
such an investigation, we could not do better than follow your reasoning. But, my dear boy, you must remember that all this took place thousands of
years ago. You must remember, too, that all records of the kind that
would help us are lacking. Also, that the places to be considered were
desert, so far as human habitation or population are considered. In the
vast desolation of such a place as complied with the necessary
conditions, there must have been such profusion of natural growth as
would bar the progress of men formed as we are. The lair of such a
monster would not have been disturbed for hundreds--or thousands--of
years. Moreover, these creatures must have occupied places quite
inaccessible to man. A snake who could make himself comfortable in a
quagmire, a hundred feet deep, would be protected on the outskirts by
such stupendous morasses as now no longer exist, or which, if they exist
anywhere at all, can be on very few places on the earth's surface. Far
be it from me to say that in more elemental times such things could not
have been. The condition belongs to the geologic age--the great birth
and growth of the world, when natural forces ran riot, when the struggle
for existence was so savage that no vitality which was not founded in a
gigantic form could have even a possibility of survival. That such a
time existed, we have evidences in geology, but there only; we can never
expect proofs such as this age demands. We can only imagine or surmise
such things--or such conditions and such forces as overcame them." CHAPTER VI--HAWK AND PIGEON


At breakfast-time next morning Sir Nathaniel and Mr. Salton were seated
when Adam came hurriedly into the room. "Any news?" asked his uncle mechanically. "Four." "Four what?" asked Sir Nathaniel. "Snakes," said Adam, helping himself to a grilled kidney. "Four snakes. I don't understand." "Mongoose," said Adam, and then added explanatorily: "I was out with the
mongoose just after three." "Four snakes in one morning! Why, I didn't know there were so many on
the Brow"--the local name for the western cliff. "I hope that wasn't the
consequence of our talk of last night?" "It was, sir. But not directly." "But, God bless my soul, you didn't expect to get a snake like the
Lambton worm, did you? Why, a mongoose, to tackle a monster like that--if
there were one--would have to be bigger than a haystack." "These were ordinary snakes, about as big as a walking-stick." "Well, it's pleasant to be rid of them, big or little. That is a good
mongoose, I am sure; he'll clear out all such vermin round here," said
Mr. Salton. Adam went quietly on with his breakfast. Killing a few snakes in a
morning was no new experience to him. He left the room the moment
breakfast was finished and went to the study that his uncle had arranged
for him. Both Sir Nathaniel and Mr. Salton took it that he wanted to be
by himself, so as to avoid any questioning or talk of the visit that he
was to make that afternoon. They saw nothing further of him till about
half-an-hour before dinner-time. Then he came quietly into the smoking-
room, where Mr. Salton and Sir Nathaniel were sitting together, ready
dressed. "I suppose there is no use waiting. We had better get it over at once,"
remarked Adam. His uncle, thinking to make things easier for him, said: "Get what over?" There was a sign of shyness about him at this. He stammered a little at
first, but his voice became more even as he went on. "My visit to Mercy Farm." Mr. Salton waited eagerly. The old diplomatist simply smiled. "I suppose you both know that I was much interested yesterday in the
Watfords?" There was no denial or fending off the question. Both the
old men smiled acquiescence. Adam went on: "I meant you to see it--both
of you. You, uncle, because you are my uncle and the nearest of my own
kin, and, moreover, you couldn't have been more kind to me or made me
more welcome if you had been my own father." Mr. Salton said nothing. He
simply held out his hand, and the other took it and held it for a few
seconds. "And you, sir, because you have shown me something of the same
affection which in my wildest dreams of home I had no right to expect." He stopped for an instant, much moved. Sir Nathaniel answered softly, laying his hand on the youth's shoulder. "You are right, my boy; quite right. That is the proper way to look at
it. And I may tell you that we old men, who have no children of our own,
feel our hearts growing warm when we hear words like those." Then Adam hurried on, speaking with a rush, as if he wanted to come to
the crucial point. "Mr. Watford had not come in, but Lilla and Mimi were at home, and they
made me feel very welcome. They have all a great regard for my uncle. I
am glad of that any way, for I like them all--much. We were having tea,
when Mr. Caswall came to the door, attended by the negro. Lilla opened
the door herself. The window of the living-room at the farm is a large
one, and from within you cannot help seeing anyone coming. Mr. Caswall
said he had ventured to call, as he wished to make the acquaintance of
all his tenants, in a less formal way, and more individually, than had
been possible to him on the previous day. The girls made him
welcome--they are very sweet girls those, sir; someone will be very happy
some day there--with either of them." "And that man may be you, Adam," said Mr. Salton heartily. A sad look came over the young man's eyes, and the fire his uncle had
seen there died out. Likewise the timbre left his voice, making it sound
lonely. "Such might crown my life. But that happiness, I fear, is not for me--or
not without pain and loss and woe." "Well, it's early days yet!" cried Sir Nathaniel heartily. The young man turned on him his eyes, which had now grown excessively
sad. "Yesterday--a few hours ago--that remark would have given me new hope--new
courage; but since then I have learned too much." The old man, skilled in the human heart, did not attempt to argue in such
a matter. "Too early to give in, my boy." "I am not of a giving-in kind," replied the young man earnestly. "But,
after all, it is wise to realise a truth. And when a man, though he is
young, feels as I do--as I have felt ever since yesterday, when I first
saw Mimi's eyes--his heart jumps. He does not need to learn things. He
knows." There was silence in the room, during which the twilight stole on
imperceptibly.