The Horse And Goat Story

There was a farmer who had a few horses and a goat on his farm…

One day, a horse became ill and the farmer called the veterinarian, who said: "Well, your horse has a virus. He must take this medicine for three days. I'll come back on the 3rd day and if he's not better, we're going to have to put him down."

Nearby, the goat listened closely to their conversation.

The next day, they gave the horse its medicine and left.

The goat approached the horse and said: "Be strong, my friend. Get up or else they're going to put you to sleep!"

On the second day, again they gave the horse its medicine and left.

The goat came and said: "Come on buddy, get up or else you're going to die! Come on now, I'll help you get up. Let's go! One, two, three..."

On the third and final day, they came to give the horse its medicine and the vet said: "Unfortunately, we're going to have to put him down tomorrow. Otherwise, the virus might spread and infect the other horses."

After they left, the goat approached the horse and said: "Listen pal, it's now or never! Get up, come on! Have courage! Come on! Get up! Get up! That's it, slowly! Great! Come on, one, two, three... Good, good. Now faster, come on... Fantastic! Run, run more!

Yes! Yay! Yes! You did it, you're a champion!!!"

All of a sudden, the owner came back, saw the horse running in the field and began shouting: "It's a miracle! My horse is cured. We must have a grand party."

"We must have a feast... let's cook the goat!"

Moral of the story... Organizations never know which employee actually deserves the appraisal!

Life has now been explained to you - Unknown

On the first day God created the dog. God said, "Sit all day by the door of your house and bark at anyone who comes in or walks past. I will give you a life span of twenty years." The dog said, "That's too long to be barking. Give me ten years and I'll give you back the other ten." 
So God agreed. 

On the second day God created the monkey. God said, "Entertain people, do monkey tricks and make them laugh. I'll give you a twenty-year life span." The monkey said, "Monkey tricks for twenty years? I don't think so. Dog gave you back ten, so that's what I'll do too, okay?"
And God agreed. 

On the third day God created the cow. "You must go to the field with the farmer all day long and suffer under the sun, have calves, and give milk to support the farmer. I will give you a life span of sixty years."
The cow said, "That's kind of a tough life you want me to live for sixty years. Let me have twenty and I'll give back the other forty." 
And God agreed again. 

On the fourth day God created man. God said, "Eat, sleep, play, marry and enjoy your life. I'll give you twenty years."
Man said, "What? Only twenty years? Tell you what, I'll take my twenty, and the forty the cow gave back, and the ten the monkey gave back, and the ten the dog gave back, that makes eighty, okay?" 

Okay," said God, "You've got a deal." 

So that is why the first twenty years we eat, sleep, play, and enjoy ourselves; the next forty years we slave in the sun to support our family; the next ten years we do monkey tricks to entertain the grandchildren; and the last ten years we sit on the front porch and bark at everyone. 

Life has now been explained to you.

- Unknown

The Selfish Giant - Oscar Wilde

Every afternoon, as they were coming from school, the children used to go and play in the Giant's garden.
It was a large lovely garden, with soft green grass. Here and there over the grass stood beautiful flowers like stars, and there were twelve peach-trees that in the spring-time broke out into delicate blossoms of pink and pearl, and in the autumn bore rich fruit. The birds sat on the trees and sang so sweetly that the children used to stop their games in order to listen to them. 'How happy we are here!' they cried to each other.

     One day the Giant came back. He had been to visit his friend the Cornish ogre, and had stayed with him for seven years. After the seven years were over he had said all that he had to say, for his conversation was limited, and he determined to return to his own castle. When he arrived he saw the children playing in the garden.

     'What are you doing here?' he cried in a very gruff voice, and the children ran away.

     'My own garden is my own garden,' said the Giant; 'any one can understand that, and I will allow nobody to play in it but myself.' So he built a high wall all round it, and put up a notice-board.



TRESPASSERS
WILL BE
PROSECUTED


     He was a very selfish Giant.

     The poor children had now nowhere to play. They tried to play on the road, but the road was very dusty and full of hard stones, and they did not like it. They used to wander round the high wall when their lessons were over, and talk about the beautiful garden inside.

     'How happy we were there,' they said to each other.

<  2  >
     Then the Spring came, and all over the country there were little blossoms and little birds. Only in the garden of the Selfish Giant it was still Winter. The birds did not care to sing in it as there were no children, and the trees forgot to blossom. Once a beautiful flower put its head out from the grass, but when it saw the notice-board it was so sorry for the children that it slipped back into the ground again, and went off to sleep. The only people who were pleased were the Snow and the Frost. 'Spring has forgotten this garden,' they cried, 'so we will live here all the year round.' The Snow covered up the grass with her great white cloak, and the Frost painted all the trees silver. Then they invited the North Wind to stay with them, and he came. He was wrapped in furs, and he roared all day about the garden, and blew the chimney-pots down. 'This is a delightful spot,' he said, 'we must ask the Hail on a visit.' So the Hail came. Every day for three hours he rattled on the roof of the castle till he broke most of the slates, and then he ran round and round the garden as fast as he could go. He was dressed in grey, and his breath was like ice.

     'I cannot understand why the Spring is so late in coming,' said the Selfish Giant, as he sat at the window and looked out at his cold white garden; 'I hope there will be a change in the weather.'

     But the Spring never came, nor the Summer. The Autumn gave golden fruit to every garden, but to the Giant's garden she gave none. 'He is too selfish,' she said. So it was always Winter there, and the North Wind, and the Hail, and the Frost, and the Snow danced about through the trees.

     One morning the Giant was lying awake in bed when he heard some lovely music. It sounded so sweet to his ears that he thought it must be the King's musicians passing by. It was really only a little linnet singing outside his window, but it was so long since he had heard a bird sing in his garden that it seemed to him to be the most beautiful music in the world. Then the Hail stopped dancing over his head, and the North Wind ceased roaring, and a delicious perfume came to him through the open casement. 'I believe the Spring has come at last,' said the Giant; and he jumped out of bed and looked out.

<  3  >
     What did he see?

     He saw a most wonderful sight. Through a little hole in the wall the children had crept in, and they were sitting in the branches of the trees. In every tree that he could see there was a little child. And the trees were so glad to have the children back again that they had covered themselves with blossoms, and were waving their arms gently above the children's heads. The birds were flying about and twittering with delight, and the flowers were looking up through the green grass and laughing. It was a lovely scene, only in one corner it was still Winter. It was the farthest corner of the garden, and in it was standing a little boy. He was so small that he could not reach up to the branches of the tree, and he was wandering all round it, crying bitterly. The poor tree was still quite covered with frost and snow, and the North Wind was blowing and roaring above it. 'Climb up! little boy,' said the Tree, and it bent its branches down as low as it could; but the little boy was too tiny.

     And the Giant's heart melted as he looked out. 'How selfish I have been!' he said; 'now I know why the Spring would not come here. I will put that poor little boy on the top of the tree, and then I will knock down the wall, and my garden shall be the children's playground for ever and ever.' He was really very sorry for what he had done.

     So he crept downstairs and opened the front door quite softly, and went out into the garden. But when the children saw him they were so frightened that they all ran away, and the garden became Winter again. Only the little boy did not run, for his eyes were so full of tears that he died not see the Giant coming. And the Giant stole up behind him and took him gently in his hand, and put him up into the tree. And the tree broke at once into blossom, and the birds came and sang on it, and the little boy stretched out his two arms and flung them round the Giant's neck, and kissed him. And the other children, when they saw that the Giant was not wicked any longer, came running back, and with them came the Spring. 'It is your garden now, little children,' said the Giant, and he took a great axe and knocked down the wall. And when the people were gong to market at twelve o'clock they found the Giant playing with the children in the most beautiful garden they had ever seen.

<  4  >
     All day long they played, and in the evening they came to the Giant to bid him good-bye.

     'But where is your little companion?' he said: 'the boy I put into the tree.' The Giant loved him the best because he had kissed him.

     'We don't know,' answered the children; 'he has gone away.'

     'You must tell him to be sure and come here to-morrow,' said the Giant. But the children said that they did not know where he lived, and had never seen him before; and the Giant felt very sad.

     Every afternoon, when school was over, the children came and played with the Giant. But the little boy whom the Giant loved was never seen again. The Giant was very kind to all the children, yet he longed for his first little friend, and often spoke of him. 'How I would like to see him!' he used to say.

     Years went over, and the Giant grew very old and feeble. He could not play about any more, so he sat in a huge armchair, and watched the children at their games, and admired his garden. 'I have many beautiful flowers,' he said; 'but the children are the most beautiful flowers of all.'

    . One winter morning he looked out of his window as he was dressing. He did not hate the Winter now, for he knew that it was merely the Spring asleep, and that the flowers were resting.

     Suddenly he rubbed his eyes in wonder, and looked and looked. It certainly was a marvellous sight. In the farthest corner of the garden was a tree quite covered with lovely white blossoms. Its branches were all golden, and silver fruit hung down from them, and underneath it stood the little boy he had loved.

     Downstairs ran the Giant in great joy, and out into the garden. He hastened across the grass, and came near to the child. And when he came quite close his face grew red with anger, and he said, 'Who hath dared to wound thee?' For on the palms of the child's hands were the prints of two nails, and the prints of two nails were on the little feet.

<  5  >
     'Who hath dared to wound thee?' cried the Giant; 'tell me, that I may take my big sword and slay him.'

     'Nay!' answered the child; 'but these are the wounds of Love.'

     'Who art thou?' said the Giant, and a strange awe fell on him, and he knelt before the little child.

     And the child smiled on the Giant, and said to him, 'You let me play once in your garden, to-day you shall come with me to my garden, which is Paradise.'

     And when the children ran in that afternoon, they found the Giant lying dead under the tree, all covered with white blossoms.

In the Name of Jesus Stop! Telemachus’ Story

How gladiator matches ended in Rome? Telemachus’ Story.

There is a story that I would like to share with you this morning.   Some of you might have heard it before,…occasionally the tale makes its way to Christian Radio, or to a sermon now and again.   In 1984, Ronald Reagan told it to the crowd at the Annual National Day of Prayer Breakfast in Washington DC.   Famed Christian Speaker Tony Campolo also told the story at a Peace Rally about a year ago.   It seems that once every few years the story gets retold in some new and exciting way.    I would like to share that story with you this morning.  Mind you, that portions of this story have made many a sermon prior to this;

The story is the story of Saint Telemachus, who lived on or about 400 AD.   As is the case with all saints, Telemachus wasn’t born a saint.    What we know about him was recorded about 50 years after his death by Bishop Theodoret of Cyprus.   Some legends have him as an unruly young man, caught up in the pleasures of the day.    After studying all over Asia Minor, Telemachus found himself sucked into the world of pleasure and indulgence.   After wandering around aimlessly for many years, trying to find meaning in fun and excitement, he eventually had his epiphany and converted to Christianity.    Immediately following his conversion he entered a monastery and became a monk.

When we think of monastery’s today, we think of quiet remote outposts, out of the way, and far from the temptations of society.   Nothing could be further from the truth.   At that time, and really through most of history, monasteries formed the backbone of the communities they existed in.   It was monasteries that served as the business, political, and education centers of the communities in which the resided.    They would have been some of the busiest places of ancient life.

It was from within such a monastery that Telemachus would have lived, studied, prayed and served.    It wasn’t solitary, but quite the opposite.   All different types of people would have made their way through the monastery’s doors, and accompanying them would be the stories of the world outside their doors.    Historians have said that Telemachus was a young man that could never stop imagining the mysteries and treasures of what the world offered.   This was most certainly fueled by the stories of strangers who stopped for a respite.

It is said that in the year 402 AD, the young monk felt called to leave the monastery and head out into the pagan world to not only learn what the world had to offer, but to spread the message of Christ to all who would listen.   One day in prayer, Telemachus felt called by God to leave immediately and head to Rome.    If monastery’s were the hub of a local community’s society, Rome was considered the hub of the world.   This was the center of society during this time.    Not sure what he would find, or why God had called him on his mission he headed from the monastery and began his trek.

Upon arriving in Rome, he was immediately caught up in the crowd.   The crowd was immense and excited.   Soon Telemachus found himself giddy with the contagious excitement of those around him.    He wasn’t sure where he was headed but he knew whatever it was, it had to be great, and there was no way he was going to miss out on it.

Within a few moments he found himself deep in the seating area of the Roman Coliseum.   Asking those around him, he learned that the Romans had just defeated the Goths, and the emperor had commanded a circus to be held for the celebrating crowd.   As he took his seat, he couldn’t have missed the emperor sitting in his seat of honor.   He most certainly would not have missed the arrival of the gladiators into the coliseum.

As the gladiators lined up below the emperors seat, together they stood and yelled out:  “We, who are about to die, salute you”.   It was the traditional greeting of the gladiators to their emperors, and in that instant he knew exactly what he had stumbled upon.   The Bishops and leaders of the church had spoken out about the gladiator games in Rome, yet most believed it legend.   In that moment, Telemachus realized it all was true.

Soon the gladiators pulled their weapons and the bloody brawl began just a few hundred yards away from him.    The grotesque nature of the sport appalled him.   Worse yet, was the reactions of those around him.   The spectators where in a blood thirsty ecstasy over what they were seeing.   Telemachus was sickened and shocked.     In that instant he realized that it must stop.  From his seat, he yelled out to the warriors:  In the Name of Jesus Stop…  But no one heard.

Without thinking he jumped over the wall and into the battle arena of the fighters.    The gladiators surprised by the unexpected guests momentarily stopped their fights and stared at the monk.    “IN THE NAME OF JESUS STOP!” he yelled over and over again.   After a few moments, the silence turned to chuckles and outright laughter.   One of the gladiators, with a sick enjoyment, took a swing at Telemachus with his sword, just barely missing him.    With that the others began to draw their swords.   Soon they were chasing this man, across the field of battle to the laughter of the crowd.    Most who witnessed the spectacle thought he was a clown or there for comic relief.

That was until they heard what he was yelling;   For the love of Christ, Stop!…  He ran, jumped, dodged and ducked, and with each passing moment his words grew clearer and louder;   In the name of Jesus, Stop.   In the name of Jesus Stop.    IN THE NAME OF JESUS STOP!

Eventually the gladiators surged and when the dust cleared, there laid Telemachus on the ground with a sword in the center of his chest.  There was silence in the crowd.   It was said in that moment, that his words still echoed in the coliseum;   In the name of Christ Stop.

After what seemed like an eternity, one man got up from his seat, and left in silence.    Then another…  Then another…   Until everyone got up from their seat and left in silence and disbelief.

The site of the dead monk in the center of the coliseum, and the reaction of the crowd, also led the emperor and his guests to silently stand, turn and leave the coliseum.    After a few minutes, the Gladiators put their swords down and they too left.   All that remained in that giant coliseum was the scrawny lifeless body of the young monk.   History claims that this was the very last gladiator game at the coliseum.    The memory of that man screaming to the crowd, and the image of the blood thirsty lust of the crowd had changed the hearts and the minds of the Romans in that instant.  Within the hour the emperor issued an edict forbidding any future games of war within the Roman Empire.

There was no more killing in the Coliseum.   There were no more gladiator matches in Rome.   There was no more killing as sport.    All because one man, stood up….and said “In the Name of Jesus Stop!”.

Fool’s Paradise by Isaac Bashevis Singer

    What is paradise like? Would people live happily in paradise? Atzel dreams to live in paradise and becomes ill. To the grief of his parents, he is willing to die. Why does Alzel want to go to paradise so much? Will his illness be cured? Please read the following cautionary tale magicallv told by the 1978 Nobel Prize winner in literature.

    Somewhere, sometime, there lived a rich man whose name was Kadish. He had an only son who was called Atzel. On the household of Kadish there lived a distant relative, an orphan girl, called Aksah. Atzel was a tall boy with black hair and black eyes. Aksah had blue eyes and golden hair. Both were about the same age. As children, they ate together, studied together, played together. It was taken for granted that when they grew up they would marry.
    But when they had grown up, Atzel suddenly became ill. It was a sickness one had ever heard of before: Atzel imagined that he was dead.
    How did such an idea come to him? It seems he had had an old nurse who constantly told stories about paradise. She had told him that in paradise it was not necessary to work or to study. In paradise one ate the meat of wild oxen and the flesh of whales; one drank the wine that the Lord reserved for the just; one slept late into the day; and one had no duties.
    Atzel was lazy by nature. He hated to get up early and to study. He knew that one day he would have to take over his father's business and he did not want to.
    Since the only way to get to paradise was to die, he had made up his mind to do just that as quickly as possible. He thought about it so much that soon he began to imagine that he was dead.
    Of course his parents became terribly worried. Aksah cried in secret. The family did everything possible to try to convince Atzel that he was alive, but he refused to believe them. He would say, "Why don't you bury me? You see that I am dead. Because of you I cannot get to paradise."
    Many doctors were called in to examine Atzel, and all tried to convince the boy that he was alive. They pointed out that he was talking and eating. But before long Atzel began to eat less, and he rarely spoke. His family feared that he would die.
    In despair, Kadish went to consult a great specialist, celebrated for his knowledge and wisdom. His name was Dr. Yoetz. After listening to a description of Atzers illness, he said to Kadish, "I promise to cure your son in eight days, on one condition. You must do whatever I tell you to, no matter how strange it may seem."
    Kadish agreed, and Dr. Yoetz said he would visit Atzel that same day. Kadish went home and told his wife, Aksah and the servants that all were to follow the doctor's orders without question.
    When Dr. Yoetz arrived, he was taken to Atzel’s room. The boy lay on his bed, pale and thin from fasting.
The doctor took one look at Atzel and called out, "Why do you keep a dead body in the house? Why don't you make a funeral?"
    On hearing these words the parents became terribly frightened, but Atzel’s face lit up with a smile and he said, "You see, I was right."
    Although Kadish and his wife were bewildered by the doctor's words, they remembered Kadish's promise, and went immediately to make arrangements for the funeral.
    The doctor requested that a room be prepared to look like paradise. The walls were hung with white satin. The windows were shuttered, and draperies tightly drawn. Candles burned day and night. The servants were dressed in white with wings on their backs and were to play angels.
    Atzel was placed in an open coffin, and a funeral ceremony was held. Atzel was so exhausted with happiness that he slept right through it. When he awoke, he found himself in a room he didn't recognize. ''Where am I?" he asked.
    "In paradise, my lord," a winged servant replied.
    "I’m terribly hungry," Atzel said. "I’d like some whale flesh and sacred wine."
    The chief servant clapped his hands and in came men servants and maids, all with wings on their backs, bearing golden trays laden with meat, fish, pomegranates and persimmons, pineapples and peaches. A tall servant with a long white beard carried a golden goblet full of wine. Atzel ate ravenously. When he had finished, he declared he wanted to rest. Two angels undressed and bathed him, and carried him to a bed with silken sheets and a purple velvet canopy. Atzel immediately fell into a deep and happy sleep.
    When he awoke, it was morning but it could just as well have been night. The shutters were closed, and the candles were burning. As soon as the servants saw that Atzel was awake, they brought in exactly the same meal as the day before.
    Atzel asked, "Don't you have any milk, coffee, fresh rolls and butter?"
    "No, my lord. In paradise one always eats the same food," the servant replied.
    "Is it already day, or is it still night?" Atzel asked.
    "In paradise there is neither day nor night."
    Atzel again ate the fish, meat, fruit, and drank the wine, but his appetite was not as good as it had been. When he had finished, he asked, "What time is it?"
    "In paradise time does not exist," the servant answered.
    “What shall I do now?" Atzel questioned.
    "In paradise, my lord, one doesn't do anything."
    "Where are the other saints?” Atzel inquired.
    "In paradise each family has a place of its own."
    "Can't one go visiting?"
    "In paradise the dwellings are too far from each other for visiting. It would take thousands of years to go from one to the other."
    "When will my family come?" Atzel asked.
    "Your father still has 20 years to live, your mother 30. And as long as they live they can't come here."
    "What about Aksah?"
    "She has 50 years to live."
    "Do I have to be alone all that time?"
    "Yes, my lord."
    For a while Atzel shook his head, pondering. Then he asked, "What is Aksah going to do?"
    "Right now, she's mourning for you. But sooner or later she will forget you, meet another young man, and marry. That's how it is with the living.”
    Atzel got up and began to walk to and fro. For the first time in years he had a desire to do something, but there was nothing to do in his paradise. He missed his father, he longed for his mother, he yearned for Aksah. He wished he had something to study; he dreamed of traveling; he wanted to ride his horse, to talk to friends.
    The time came when he could no longer hide his sadness. He remarked to one of the servants, "1 see now that it is not as bad to live as I had thought."
    “To live, my lord, is difficult. One has to study, work, do business. Here everything is easy."
    "I would rather chop wood and carry stones than sit here. And how long will this last?"
    "Forever."
    "Stay here forever?." Atzel began to tear his hair in grief. "I’d rather kill myself."
    "A dead man cannot kill himself."
    On the eighth day, when Atzel had reached the deepest despair, one of the servants, as had been arranged, came to him and said, "My lord, there has been a mistake. You are not dead. You must leave paradise."
    “I’m alive?"
   "Yes, you are alive, and I will bring you back to earth."
    Atzel was beside himself with joy. The servant blindfolded him, and after leading him back and forth through the long corridors of the house, brought him to the room where his family was waiting and uncovered his eyes.
    It was a bright day, and the sun shone through the open windows. In the garden outside, the birds were singing and the bees buzzing. Joyfully, he embraced and kissed his parents and Aksah.
    And to Aksah he said, "Do you still love me?"
    "Yes, I do, Atzel. I could not forget you."
    "If that is so, it is time we got married."
    It was not long before the wedding took place. Dr. Yoetz was the guest of honor. Musicians played; guests came from faraway cities. All brought fine gifts for the bride and groom. The celebration lasted seven days and seven nights.
    Atzel and Aksah were extremely happy, and both lived to an old age. Atzel stopped being lazy and became the most diligent merchant in the whole place.
    It was not until after the wedding that Atzel learned how Dr. Yoetz had cured him, and that he had lived in a fool's paradise. In the years to come, he and Aksah often told the tale of Dr. Yoetz's wonderful cure to their children and grandchildren, always finishing with the words, "But, of course, what paradise is really like, no one can tell."

Be judge and jury in this short story

A married couple live in a house on one side of a river. The wife has a lover who lives on the other side. The only way to get across the river is to walk across the bridge or to pay the boatman.

The husband has to go on an overnight business trip to a faraway town. The wife pleads with him to take her with him. She knows if that he doesn't she will be unfaithful to him. The husband absolutely refuses to take her because she will only be in the way of his important business. So the husband goes alone.

That night, the wife goes over the bridge and stays with her lover. Dawn is almost up when the wife leaves because she must be back home before her husband returns. She starts walking across the bridge but sees an assassin waiting for her on the other side. She knows if she tries to cross, he will murder her. In terror, she runs up the side of the river and asks the boatman to take her across the river, but he wants too much money. She doesn't have enough, so he refuses to take her.

The wife runs back to the lover's house and explains her predicament and asks him to pay the boatman. The lover refuses, telling her it's her own fault for getting into this situation. As dawn comes up the wife decides to dash across the bridge. She comes face to face with the assassin and he kills her.

The Open Window - By Saki

"My aunt will be down presently, Mr. Nuttel," said a very self-possessed young lady of fifteen; "in the meantime you must try and put up with me."

     Framton Nuttel endeavoured to say the correct something which should duly flatter the niece of the moment without unduly discounting the aunt that was to come. Privately he doubted more than ever whether these formal visits on a succession of total strangers would do much towards helping the nerve cure which he was supposed to be undergoing.

     "I know how it will be," his sister had said when he was preparing to migrate to this rural retreat; "you will bury yourself down there and not speak to a living soul, and your nerves will be worse than ever from moping. I shall just give you letters of introduction to all the people I know there. Some of them, as far as I can remember, were quite nice."

     Framton wondered whether Mrs. Sappleton, the lady to whom he was presenting one of the letters of introduction came into the nice division.

     "Do you know many of the people round here?" asked the niece, when she judged that they had had sufficient silent communion.

     "Hardly a soul," said Framton. "My sister was staying here, at the rectory, you know, some four years ago, and she gave me letters of introduction to some of the people here."

     He made the last statement in a tone of distinct regret.

     "Then you know practically nothing about my aunt?" pursued the self-possessed young lady.

     "Only her name and address," admitted the caller. He was wondering whether Mrs. Sappleton was in the married or widowed state. An undefinable something about the room seemed to suggest masculine habitation.

     "Her great tragedy happened just three years ago," said the child; "that would be since your sister's time."

     "Her tragedy?" asked Framton; somehow in this restful country spot tragedies seemed out of place.


     "You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on an October afternoon," said the niece, indicating a large French window that opened on to a lawn.

     "It is quite warm for the time of the year," said Framton; "but has that window got anything to do with the tragedy?"

     "Out through that window, three years ago to a day, her husband and her two young brothers went off for their day's shooting. They never came back. In crossing the moor to their favourite snipe-shooting ground they were all three engulfed in a treacherous piece of bog. It had been that dreadful wet summer, you know, and places that were safe in other years gave way suddenly without warning. Their bodies were never recovered. That was the dreadful part of it." Here the child's voice lost its self-possessed note and became falteringly human. "Poor aunt always thinks that they will come back someday, they and the little brown spaniel that was lost with them, and walk in at that window just as they used to do. That is why the window is kept open every evening till it is quite dusk. Poor dear aunt, she has often told me how they went out, her husband with his white waterproof coat over his arm, and Ronnie, her youngest brother, singing 'Bertie, why do you bound?' as he always did to tease her, because she said it got on her nerves. Do you know, sometimes on still, quiet evenings like this, I almost get a creepy feeling that they will all walk in through that window - "

     She broke off with a little shudder. It was a relief to Framton when the aunt bustled into the room with a whirl of apologies for being late in making her appearance.

     "I hope Vera has been amusing you?" she said.

     "She has been very interesting," said Framton.

     "I hope you don't mind the open window," said Mrs. Sappleton briskly; "my husband and brothers will be home directly from shooting, and they always come in this way. They've been out for snipe in the marshes today, so they'll make a fine mess over my poor carpets. So like you menfolk, isn't it?"


     She rattled on cheerfully about the shooting and the scarcity of birds, and the prospects for duck in the winter. To Framton it was all purely horrible. He made a desperate but only partially successful effort to turn the talk on to a less ghastly topic, he was conscious that his hostess was giving him only a fragment of her attention, and her eyes were constantly straying past him to the open window and the lawn beyond. It was certainly an unfortunate coincidence that he should have paid his visit on this tragic anniversary.

     "The doctors agree in ordering me complete rest, an absence of mental excitement, and avoidance of anything in the nature of violent physical exercise," announced Framton, who laboured under the tolerably widespread delusion that total strangers and chance acquaintances are hungry for the least detail of one's ailments and infirmities, their cause and cure. "On the matter of diet they are not so much in agreement," he continued.

     "No?" said Mrs. Sappleton, in a voice which only replaced a yawn at the last moment. Then she suddenly brightened into alert attention - but not to what Framton was saying.

     "Here they are at last!" she cried. "Just in time for tea, and don't they look as if they were muddy up to the eyes!"

     Framton shivered slightly and turned towards the niece with a look intended to convey sympathetic comprehension. The child was staring out through the open window with a dazed horror in her eyes. In a chill shock of nameless fear Framton swung round in his seat and looked in the same direction.

     In the deepening twilight three figures were walking across the lawn towards the window, they all carried guns under their arms, and one of them was additionally burdened with a white coat hung over his shoulders. A tired brown spaniel kept close at their heels. Noiselessly they neared the house, and then a hoarse young voice chanted out of the dusk: "I said, Bertie, why do you bound?"

     Framton grabbed wildly at his stick and hat; the hall door, the gravel drive, and the front gate were dimly noted stages in his headlong retreat. A cyclist coming along the road had to run into the hedge to avoid imminent collision.


     "Here we are, my dear," said the bearer of the white mackintosh, coming in through the window, "fairly muddy, but most of it's dry. Who was that who bolted out as we came up?"

     "A most extraordinary man, a Mr. Nuttel," said Mrs. Sappleton; "could only talk about his illnesses, and dashed off without a word of goodby or apology when you arrived. One would think he had seen a ghost."

     "I expect it was the spaniel," said the niece calmly; "he told me he had a horror of dogs. He was once hunted into a cemetery somewhere on the banks of the Ganges by a pack of pariah dogs, and had to spend the night in a newly dug grave with the creatures snarling and grinning and foaming just above him. Enough to make anyone lose their nerve."

     Romance at short notice was her speciality.