The wood was black as ink all round me, too black to see the
tree-trunks separately, except far below where the village lights came
up twinkling between them, and the only way I kept the path was by the
soft feel of the pine-needles that were thicker than a Brussels carpet. But nothing happened, and no one stirred. The idea that I was being
watched remained, only there was no sound anywhere except the roar of
falling water that filled the entire valley. Yet some one was very
close to me in the darkness. I can't say how long I might have stood there, but I guess it was the
best part of ten minutes, and I remember it struck me that I had run
up against a pocket of extra-rarefied air that had a lot of oxygen in
it--oxygen or something similar--and that was the cause of my elation. The idea was nonsense, I have no doubt; but for the moment it half
explained the thing to me. I realised it was all _natural_ enough, at
any rate--and so moved on. It took a longish time to reach the edge
of the wood, and a footpath led me--oh, it was quite a walk, I tell
you--into the village street again. I was both glad and sorry to get
there. I kept myself busy thinking the whole thing over again. What
caught me all of a heap was that million-dollar sense of beauty, youth,
and happiness. Never in my born days had I felt anything to touch it. And it hadn't cost a cent! Well, I was sitting there enjoying my smoke and trying to puzzle it
all out, and the hall was pretty full of people smoking and talking
and reading papers, and so forth, when all of a sudden I looked up and
caught my breath with such a jerk that I actually bit my tongue. There
was grandfather in front of my chair! I looked into his eyes. I saw him
as clear and solid as the porter standing behind his desk across the
lounge, and it gave me a touch of cold all down the back that I needn't
forget unless I want to. He was looking into my face, and he had a cap
in his hand, and he was speaking to me. It was my grandfather's picture
come to life, only much thinner and younger and a kind of light in his
eyes like fire. "I beg your pardon, but you _are_--Uncle Jim, aren't you?" And then, with another jump of my nerves, I understood. "You, Arthur! Well, I'm jiggered. So it is. Take a chair, boy. I'm
right glad you found me. Shake! Sit down." And I shook his hand and
pushed a chair up for him. I was never so surprised in my life. The
last time I set eyes on him he was a boy. Now he was a young man, and
the very image of his ancestor. He sat down, fingering his cap. He wouldn't have a drink and he
wouldn't smoke. "All right," I said, "let's talk then. I've lots to
tell you and I've lots to hear. How are you, boy?" He didn't answer at first. He eyed me up and down. He hesitated. He was
as handsome as a young Greek god. "I say, Uncle Jim," he began presently, "it _was_ you--just now--in the
wood--wasn't it?" It made me start, that question put so quietly. "I _have_ just come through that wood up there," I answered, pointing
in the direction as well as I could remember, "if that's what you mean. But why? _You_ weren't there, were you?" It gave me a queer sort of
feeling to hear him say it. What in the name of heaven did he mean? He sat back in his chair with a sigh of relief. "Oh, that's all right then," he said, "if it _was_ you. Did you see,"
he asked suddenly; "did you see--anything?" "Not a thing," I told him honestly. "It was far too dark." I laughed. I fancied I twigged his meaning. But I was not the sort of uncle to
come prying on him. Life must be dull enough, I remembered, in this
mountain village. But he didn't understand my laugh. He didn't mean what I meant. And there came a pause between us. I discovered that we were talking
different lingoes. I leaned over towards him. "Look here, Arthur," I said in a lower voice, "what is it, and what do
you mean? I'm all right, you know, and you needn't be afraid of telling
me. What d'you mean by--did I see anything?" We looked each other squarely in the eye. He saw he could trust me, and
I saw--well, a whole lot of things, perhaps, but I felt chiefly that he
liked me and would tell me things later, all in his own good time. I
liked him all the better for that too. "I only meant," he answered slowly, "whether you really
_saw_--anything?" "No," I said straight, "I didn't see a thing, but, by the gods, I
_felt_ something." He started. I started too. An astonishing big look came swimming over
his fair, handsome face. His eyes seemed all lit up. He looked as if
he'd just made a cool million in wheat or cotton. "I knew--you were that sort," he whispered. "Though I hardly remembered
what you looked like." "Then what on earth was it?" I asked. His reply staggered me a bit. "It was just that," he said--"the Earth!" And then, just when things were getting interesting and promising a
dividend, he shut up like a clam. He wouldn't say another word. He
asked after my family and business, my health, what kind of crossing
I'd had, and all the rest of the common stock. It fairly bowled me
over. And I couldn't change him either. I suppose in America we get pretty free and easy, and don't quite
understand reserve. But this young man of half my age kept me in my
place as easily as I might have kept a nervous customer quiet in my
own office. He just refused to take me on. He was polite and cool and
distant as you please, and when I got pressing sometimes he simply
pretended he didn't understand. I could no more get him back again to
the subject of the wood than a customer could have gotten me to tell
him about the prospects of exchange being cheap or dear--when I didn't
know myself but wouldn't let him see I didn't know. He was charming, he
was delightful, enthusiastic and even affectionate; downright glad to
see me, too, and to chin with me--but I couldn't draw him worth a cent. And in the end I gave up trying. And the moment I gave up trying he let down a little--but only a very
little. "You'll stay here some time, Uncle Jim, won't you?" "That's my idea," I said, "if I can see you, and you can show me round
some." He laughed with pleasure. "Oh, rather. I've got lots of time. After
three in the afternoon I'm free till--any time you like. There's a lot
to see," he added. "Come along to-morrow then," I said. "If you can't take lunch, perhaps
you can come just afterwards. You'll find me waiting for you--right
here." "I'll come at three," he replied, and we said good-night. 2

He turned up sharp at three, and I liked his punctuality. I saw him
come swinging down the dusty road; tall, deep-chested, his broad
shoulders a trifle high, and his head set proudly. He looked like a
young chap in training, a thoroughbred, every inch of him. At the same
time there was a touch of something a little too refined and delicate
for a man, I thought. That was the poetic, scholarly vein in him, I
guess--grandfather cropping out. This time he wore no cap.