as he went his postman’s rounds, never before had he so much feared the day that took him up to the wold and the lonely house, while snug by the fire his wife looked pleasurably forward to curiosity’s gratification and hoped to have news ere nightfall that all the gossips of the village would envy.  One consolation only had Amuel as he set out with a shiver, there was a letter that day for the last house in the lane.  Long did he tarry there to look at their cheery faces, to hear the sound of their laughter—­you did not hear laughter in wold-hut—­and when the last topic had been utterly talked out and no excuse for lingering remained he heaved a heavy sigh and plodded grimly away and so came late to wold-hut.

He gave his postman’s knock on the shut oak door, heard it reverberate through the silent house, saw the grim elder man and his gristly hand, gave up the green letter from China, and strode away.  There is a clump of trees growing all alone in the wold, desolate, mournful, by day, by night full of ill omen, far off from all other trees as wold-hut from other houses.  Near it stands wold-hut.  Not today did Amuel stride briskly on with all the new winds of autumn blowing cheerily past him till he saw the village before him and broke into song; but as soon as he was out of sight of the house he turned and stooping behind a fold of the ground ran back to the desolate wood.  There he waited watching the evil house, just too far to hear voices.  The sun was low already.  He chose the window at which he meant to eavesdrop, a little barred one at the back, close to the ground.  And then the pigeons came in; for a great distance there was no other wood, so numbers shelter there, though the clump is small and of so evil a look (if they notice that); the first one frightened Amuel, he felt that it might be a spirit escaped from torture in some dim parlour of the house that he watched, his nerves were strained and he feared foolish fears.  Then he grew used to them and the sun set then and the aspect of everything altered and he felt strange fears again.  Behind him was a hollow in the wold, he watched it darkening; and before him he saw the house through the trunks of the trees.  He waited for them to light their lamps so that they could not see, when he would steal up softly and crouch by the little back window.  But though every bird was home, though the night grew chilly as tombs, though a star was out, still there shone no yellow light from any window.  Amuel waited and shuddered.  He did not dare to move till they lit their lamps, they might be watching.  The damp and the cold so strangely affected him that autumn evening and the remnants of sunset, the stars and the wold and the whole vault of the sky seemed like a hall that they had prepared for Fear.  He began to feel a dread of prodigious things, and still no light shone in the evil house.  It grew so dark that he decided to move and make his way to the window in spite of the stillness and though the