Through the troubles that had overtaken Carver House, Kaiser Bill had gained a temporary reprieve.  In the excitement over Nyoda’s going away he had been forgotten entirely for a whole week, and of course nothing would be done about his execution until she returned.  Kaiser Bill was making the most of his reprieve by breaking bounds every day and damaging property to his heart’s content.

But not even Kaiser Bill in mischief could hold Sahwah’s attention now.  She walked on in the golden afternoon sunshine, her heart attuned to the song of the wild thrush that came pouring out of the stillness of the woods.  She sought her own favorite haunt, a mossy seat beside the little singing stream, where she loved to sit and watch the water tumble and foam over the rocks, but when she got there she found the place already occupied.  Eugene Prince, the artist, sat there, his head tilted back against the trunk of a tree, sound asleep, with his sketching portfolio beside him on the ground and his hat on the other side.  Sahwah scowled at the sleeping man and passed swiftly on.  She had no desire to sit near him, even if he was asleep.  She found another place, far downstream, where there was a rocky seat close to the water, and, curling herself down in it, she watched the water tumble and foam, and gave herself over to pondering on the delightful mystery of life and fate.

Upstream, in Sahwah’s own private nook, the invader reclined at ease, steeped in the sound slumber of a drowsy midsummer afternoon.  Upon this peaceful scene there appeared a sinister and menacing apparition, a shaggy body mounted on slender, adventurous legs, and terminating in a mischievous-shaped head with evilly glittering eyes and wicked-looking horns.  It was none other than Kaiser Bill, on whom the taste of honeysuckle had palled, wandering far afield in search of something to tickle his discriminating palate.  He stood still and surveyed the scene, eyeing the various articles spread out before him with an appraising eye, like a man in a Thompson’s restaurant looking over the articles on the counter and trying to make up his mind what he will have.  He looked at the pencil, he looked at the sketch pad; he sniffed experimentally at the hat and then at the portfolio.  The portfolio went to the spot; it was made of leather with brass corners.  He had not had such a treat in many a day.  He licked his chops; the water of anticipation began to gather in his mouth.  With a greedy movement he sank his teeth into the portfolio and began his feast In his sportive delight he played with his prize, tossing it to the ground and attacking it from all sides, while his eyes glittered maliciously at the sleeping artist.  Then he; moved on down the wood path, dragging the portfolio with him until he found a place which struck him as a suitable banquet Chamber, and there he stood still and began chewing.