On a pleasant, sunny afternoon near the end of May, when the late springwas just merging into early summer, Mr. Thomas Pedley (Tom Pedley to hisfriends, or more usually plain Tom) was seated on a substantial sketchingstool before a light bamboo easel on which was fixed an upright canvasmeasuring eighteen inches by twelve. To an expert eye, his appearance,his simple, workmanlike outfit, the leisurely ease with which he handledhis brush, and the picture which was growing into shape on the canvas,would all have suggested a competent and experienced landscape painter.And such, in fact, was Tom Pedley. From his early boyhood, some forty-oddyears ago, drawing and painting had been his one absorbing passion,coupled with that love of the countryside that marks the born landscapeartist. To him that countryside, largely unspoiled in his early days, wasan inexhaustible source of delight and a subject of endless study andmeditation. In his daily rambles through meadow or woodland, by farmyardsor quiet hamlets, every journey was a voyage of exploration yieldingfresh discoveries; new truths of characteristic form and subtle,unexpected colour to be added to his growing store of knowledge of thoseless obvious aspects of nature which it is the landscape painter'smission to reveal. And as the years passed and the countryside faded awayunder the withering touch of mechanical transport, that knowledge grewmore and more precious. Now, the dwindling remnants had to be sought andfound with considered judgment and their scanty material eked out withdetail brought forth from the stores of the remembered past.The picture which was shaping itself on the canvas was an example of thisapplication of knowledge gained by experience. On the wall of a galleryit would have suggested to the spectator an open glade in some vastwoodland. In fact, the place was no more than a scrubby little copse, thelast surviving oasis in the squalid desert of a "developing"neighbourhood. From his "pitch," ensconced in a clump of bushes, Tomcould hear, faint and far away, the strident hoots of motor cars, therumble of omnibuses, and the clatter of lorries; and but a hundred yardsdistant was the path by which he had come, a rutted track that led from ahalf-built street at one end to a dismantled farmyard at the other.Nevertheless, apart from the traffic noises, the place was strangelypeaceful and quiet, its silence accentuated by the natural sounds thatpervaded it. Somewhere in the foliage hard by, a thrush sang joyously,and on a branch just overhead a chaffinch repeated again and again hispleasant little monotonous song. And the solitude was as perfect as thequiet. The rough path seemed to be untrodden by the foot of man, for,during the two hours that Tom had been at work, not a soul had passedalong it.At length, as he paused to fill his pipe and take a thoughtful survey ofhis picture, the sound of voices was followed by the appearance of twomen walking slowly along the path, conversing earnestly though in lowtones. Tom could not hear what they were saying, though the impressionconveyed to him was that their manner was rather the reverse of amicable.But in fact he gave them little attention beyond noting the effect of thedark, sharply defined shapes against the in definite background; and eventhis interested him but little as his subject required no figures, andcertainly not one in a bowler hat. So he continued filling his pipe andappraising his afternoon's work as they walked by without noticing him--actually, he was almost invisible from the path--and as they passed outof sight he produced his matchbox and was about to strike a light when athird figure, that of a woman, made its appearance, moving in the samedirection as the others.This time Tom's attention was definitely aroused, and he sat motionlesswith the unlighted match in his hand, peering out through the chinks inthe bushes which concealed him. The woman's behaviour was very peculiar.She was advancing rather more quickly than the two men, but with asilent, stealthy tread; and from her movements she seemed to be listeningand trying to keep the men in sight while keeping out of sight, herself