"I suppose it was your doing," she observed; "it's a harmless
piece of lunacy, but people would think you dreadfully silly if
they knew of it."
"Did you meddle with it in any way?" asked Mortimer.
"I--I threw the grapes away. It seemed so silly," said Sylvia,
watching Mortimer's impassive face for a sign of annoyance.
"I don't think you were wise to do that," he said reflectively.
"I've heard it said that the Wood Gods are rather horrible to
those who molest them."
"Horrible perhaps to those that believe in them, but you see I
don't," retorted Sylvia.
"All the same," said Mortimer in his even, dispassionate tone, "I
should avoid the woods and orchards if I were you, and give a wide
berth to the horned beasts on the farm."
It was all nonsense, of course, but in that lonely wood-girt spot
nonsense seemed able to rear a bastard brood of uneasiness.
"Mortimer," said Sylvia suddenly, "I think we will go back to Town
some time soon."
Her victory had not been so complete as she had supposed; it had
carried her on to ground that she was already anxious to quit.
"I don't think you will ever go back to Town," said Mortimer. He
seemed to be paraphrasing his mother's prediction as to himself.
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