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