picture；　he　had　kept　it　as　a　family　party。　　He　was　a　widower；　and　when　the　meal　had　been　laid　out　on　the　garden　table；　it　was　Barbara　who　presided　as　hostess。　　She　had　the　new　poet　on　her　right　hand　and　it　made　her　very　uncomfortable。　She　had　practically　offered　that　fallacious　jongleur　money；　and　it　did　not　make　it　easier　to　offer　him　lunch。
  〃The　whole　countryside's　gone　mad；〃　announced　the　Squire；　by　way　of　the　latest　local　news。　　〃It's　about　this　infernal　legend　of　ours。〃
  〃I　collect　legends；〃　said　Paynter；　smiling。
  〃You　must　remember　I　haven't　yet　had　a　chance　to　collect　yours。　And　this；〃　he　added；　looking　round　at　the　romantic　coast；　〃is　a　fine　theater　for　anything　dramatic。〃
  〃Oh；　it's　dramatic　in　its　way；〃　admitted　Vane；　not　without　a　faint　satisfaction。　　〃It's　all　about　those　things　over　there　we　call　the　peacock　treesI　suppose；　because　of　the　queer　color　of　the　leaf；　you　know；　though　I　have　heard　they　make　a　shrill　noise　in　a　high　wind　that's　supposed　to　be　like　the　shriek　of　a　peacock；　something　like　a　bamboo　in　the　botanical　structure；　perhaps。　Well；　those　trees　are　supposed　to　have　been　brought　over　from　Barbary　by　my　ancestor　Sir　Walter　Vane；　one　of　the　Elizabethan　patriots　or　pirates；　or　whatever　you　call　them。　They　say　that　at　the　end　of　his　last　voyage　the　villagers　gathered　on　the　beach　down　there　and　saw　the　boat　standing　in　from　the　sea；　and　the　new　trees　stood　up　in　the　boat　like　a　mast；　all　gay　with　leaves　out　of　season；　like　green　bunting。　And　as　they　watched　they　thought　at　first　that　the　boat　was　steering　oddly；　and　then　that　it　wasn't　steering　at　all；　and　when　it　drifted　to　the　shore　at　last　every　man　in　that　boat　was　dead；　and　Sir　Walter　Vane；　with　his　sword　drawn；　was　leaning　up　against　the　tree　trunk；　as　stiff　as　the　tree。〃
  〃Now　this　is　rather　curious；〃　remarked　Paynter　thoughtfully。　〃I　told　you　I　collected　legends；　and　I　fancy　I　can　tell　you　the　beginning　of　the　story　of　which　that　is　the　end；　though　it　comes　hundreds　of　miles　across　the　sea。〃
  He　tapped　meditatively　on　the　table　with　his　thin；　taper　fingers；　like　a　man　trying　to　recall　a　tune。　　He　had；　indeed；　made　a　hobby　of　such　fables；　and　he　was　not　without　vanity　about　his　artistic　touch　in　telling　them。
  〃Oh；　do　tell　us　your　part　of　it？〃　cried　Barbara　Vane；　whose　air　of　sunny　sleepiness　seemed　in　some　vague　degree　to　have　fallen　from　her。
  The　American　bowed　across　the　table　with　a　serious　politeness；　and　then　began　playing　idly　with　a　quaint　ring　on　his　long　finger　as　he　talked。
  〃If　you　go　down　to　the　Barbary　Coast；　where　the　last　wedge　of　the　forest　narrows　down　between　the　desert　and　the　great　tideless　sea；　you　will　find　the　natives　still　telling　a　strange　story　about　a　saint　of　the　Dark　Ages。　　There；　on　the　twilight　border　of　the　Dark　Continent；　you　feel　the　Dark　Ages。　　I　have　only　visited　the　place　once；　though　it　lies；　so　to　speak；　opposite　to　the　Italian　city　where　I　lived　for　years；　and　yet　you　would　hardly　believe　how　the　topsy…turvydom　and　transmigration　of　this　myth　somehow　seemed　less　mad　than　they　really　are；　with　the　wood　loud　with　lions　at　night　and　that　dark　red　solitude　beyond。　　They　say　that　the　hermit　St。　Securis；　living　there　among　trees；　grew　to　love　them　like　companions；　since；　though　great　giants　with　many　arms　like　Briareus；　they　were　the　mildest　and　most　blameless　of　the　creatures；　they　did　not　de　vour　like　the　lions；　but　rather　opened　their　arms　to　all　the　little　birds。　　And　he　prayed　that　they　might　be　loosened　from　time　to　time　to　walk　like　other　things。　And　the　trees　were　moved　upon　the　prayers　of　Securis；　as　they　were　at　the　songs　of　Orpheus。　　The　men　of　the　desert　were　stricken　from　afar　with　fear；　seeing　the　saint　walking　with　a　walking　grove；　like　a　schoolmaster　with　his　boys。　For　the　trees　were　thus　freed　under　strict　conditions　of　discipline。　They　were　to　return　at　the　sound　of　the　hermit's　bell；　and；　above　all；　to　copy　the　wild　beasts　in　walking　only　to　destroy　and　devour　nothing。　Well；　it　is　said　that　one　of　the　trees　heard　a　voice　that　was　not　the　saint's；　that　in　the　warm　green　twilight　of　one　summer　evening　it　became　conscious　of　some　thing　sitting　and　speaking　in　its　branches　in　the　guise　of　a　great　bird；　and　it　was　that　which　once　spoke　from　a　tree　in　the　guise　of　a　great　serpent。　As　the　voice　grew　louder　among　its　murmuring　leaves　the　tree　was　torn　with　a　great　desire　to　stretch　out　and　snatch　at　the　birds　that　flew　harmlessly　about　their　nests；　and　pluck　them　to　pieces。　　Finally；　the　tempter　filled　the　tree…top　with　his　own　birds　of　pride；　the　starry　pageant　of　the　peacocks。　And　the　spirit　of　the　brute　overcame　the　spirit　of　the　tree；　and　it　rent　and　consumed　the　blue…green　birds　till　not　a　plume　was　left；　and　returned　to　the　quiet　tribe　of　trees。　　But　they　say　that　when　spring　came　all　the　other　trees　put　forth　leaves；　but　this　put　forth　feathers　of　a　strange　hue　and　pattern。　And　by　that　monstrous　assimilation　the　saint　knew　of　the　sin；　and　he　rooted　that　one　tree　to　the　earth　with　a　judgment；　so　that　evil　should　fall　on　any　who　removed　it　again。　That；　Squire；　is　the　beginning　in　the　deserts　of　the　tale　that　ended　here；　almost　in　this　garden。〃
  〃And　the　end　is　about　as　reliable　as　the　beginning；　I　should　say；〃　said　Vane。　　〃Yours　is　a　nice　plain　tale　for　a　small　tea…party；　a　quiet　little　bit　of　still…life；　that　is。〃
  〃What　a　queer；　horrible　story；〃　exclaimed　Barbara。　　〃It　makes　one　feel　like　a　cannibal。〃
  〃Ex　Africa；〃　said　the　lawyer；　smiling。　　〃it　comes　from　a　cannibal　country。　　I　think　it's　the　touch　of　the　tar…brush；　that　nightmare　feeling　that　you　don't　know　whether　the　hero　is　a　plant　or　a　man　or　a　devil。　　Don't　you　feel　it　sometimes　in　'Uncle　Remus'？〃
  〃True；〃　said　Paynter。　　〃Perfectly　true。〃　　And　he　looked　at　the　lawyer　with　a　new　interest。　　The　lawyer；　who　had　been　introduced　as　Mr。　Ashe；　was　one　of　those　people　who　are　more　worth　looking　at　than　most　people　realize　when　they　look。　　If　Napoleon　had　been　red…haired；　and　had　bent　all　his　powers　with　a　curious　contentment　upon　the　petty　lawsuits　of　a　province；　he　might　have　looked　much　the　same；　the　head　with　the　red　hair　was　heavy　and　powerful；　the　figure　in　its　dark；　quiet　clothes　was　comparatively　insignificant；　as　was　Napoleon's。　He　seemed　more　at　case　in　the　Squire's　society　than　the　doctor；　who；　though　a　gentleman；　was　a　shy　one；　and　a　mere　shadow　of　his　professional　brother。
  〃As　you　truly　say；〃　remarked　Paynter；　〃the　story　seems　touched　with　quite　barbarous　elements；　probably　Negro。　　Originally；　though；　I　think　there　was　really　a　hagiological　story　about　some　hermit；　though　some　of　the　higher　critics　say　St。　Securis　never　existed；　but　was　only　an　allegory　of　arboriculture；　since　his　name　is　the　Latin　for　an　ax。〃
  〃Oh；　if　you　come　to　that；〃　remarked　the　poet　Treherne；　〃you　might　as　well　say　Squire　Vane　doesn't　exist；　and　that　he's　only　an　allegory　for　a　weathercock。〃　　Something　a　shade　too　cool　about　this　sally　drew　the　lawyer's　red　brows　tgether。　He　looked　across　the　table　and　met　the　poet's　somewhat　equivocal　smile。
  〃Do　I　understand；　Mr。　Treherne；〃　asked　Ashe；　〃that　you　support　the　miraculous　claims　of　St。　Securis　in　this　case。　Do　you；　by　any　chance；　believe　in　the　walking　trees？〃
  〃I　see　men　as　trees　walking；〃　answered　the　poet；　〃like　the　man　cured　of　blindness　in　the　Gospel。　　By　the　way；　do　I　understand　that　you　support　the　miraculous　claims　of　thatthaumaturgist？〃
  Paynter　intervened　swiftly　and　suavely。　　〃Now　that　sounds　a　fascinating　piece　of　psychology。　　You　see　men　as　trees？〃
  〃As　I　can't　imagine　why　men　should　walk；　I　can't　imagine　why　trees　shouldn't；〃　answered　Treherne。
  〃Obviously；　it　is　the　nature　of　the　organism〃；　interposed　the　medical　guest；　Dr。　Burton　Brown；　〃it　is　necessary　in　the　very　type　of　vegetable　structure。〃
  〃In　other　words；　a　tree　sticks　in　the　mud　from　year's　end　to　year's　end；〃　answered　Treherne。　　〃So　do　you　stop　in　your　consulting　room　from　ten　to　eleven　every　day。　　And　don't　you　fancy　a　fairy；　looking　in　at　your　window　for　a　flash　after　having　just　jumped　over　the　moon　and　played　mulberry　bush　with　the　Pleiades；　would　think　you　were　a　vegetable　structure；　and　that　sitting　still　was　the　nature　of　the　organism？〃
  〃I　don't　happen　to　believe　in　fairies；〃　said　the　doctor　rather　stiffly；　for　the　argumentum　ad　hominem　was　becoming　too　common。　　A　sulphurous　subconscious　anger　seemed　to　radiate　from　the　dark　poet。
  〃Well；　I　should　hope　not；　Doctor；〃　began　the　Squire；　in　his　loud　and　friendly　style；　and　then　stopped；　seeing　the　other's　attention　arrested。　　The　silent　butler　waiting　on　the　guests　had　appeared　behind　the　doctor's　chair；　and　was　saying　something　in　the　low；　level　tones　of　the　welltrained　servant。　He　was　so　smooth　a　specimen　of　the　type　that　others　never　noticed；　at　first；　that　he　also　repeated　the　dark　portrait；　however　varnished；　so　common　in　this　particular　family　of　Cornish　Celts。　　His　face　was　sallow　and　even　yellow；　and　his　hair　indigo　black。　He　went　by　the　name　of　Miles。　　Some　felt　oppressed　by　the　tribal　type　in　this　tiny　corner　of　England。　　They　felt　somehow　as　if　all　these　dark　faces　were　the　masks　of　a　secret　society。
  The　doctor　rose　with　a　half　apology。　　〃'I　must　ask　pardon　for　disturbing　this　pleasant　party；　I　am　called　away　on　duty。　Please　don't　l