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rocks into slippery, treacherous jewels. Egan leaned against a tree trunk to catch his breath and Annabelle dropped down at his feet. He bent over to scratch her ears and then, suddenly, the moaning began.

    It was loud here, halfway up the Rise, loud and horrifying and desperate. Down through the trees it twisted with the wind, a long, unearthly moaning that rose gradually till it wound into a high and hollow wail. Egan stood transfixed with his hand on Annabelle’s head and for the first time he was afraid.

    The Megrimum was awake at last. In the fields below, the chattering ceased. Faces peered out of tent flaps and windows, serious, frightened, eager. Here and there a man or a child came out into the rain and stood quietly, listening. An old woman dragged a stool from under a little cart and sat clutching an onion, nodding with her eyes tight shut, while the rain wilted her bonnet down around her ears.
    But in the village there was frantic activity. Uncle Anson, a lantern bobbing from his hand, was rushing from neighbor to neighbor. “Quick! Quick! To my house at once! Yes, it’s my nephew, my wife’s sister’s child. He’s trying to climb the Rise. We’ve got to stop him. What do you mean, I’m crazy? We can’t just let him go!”
    Soon a wet and anxious group of men were arguing and shouting before the fire in the little house, while Ada snuffled miserably in a corner and Aunt Gertrude rushed back and forth, making coffee and spilling more than she served.
    “But see here, Anson, that boy won’t climb all the way up!” said one of the men.
    “How do you know he won’t?” answered Uncle Anson grimly. “He doesn’t live in Instep. He doesn’t understand.”
    “But good lord, man,” cried another, “do you realize what you’re saying? You’re asking us to climb the Rise!”
    “I know what I’m asking!” shouted Uncle Anson. “How can you think I don’t? But can I let that boy stay out there now? The Megrimum is wide awake. I’ve never heard it moan so loud.”
    “Nobody would be fool enough to climb up there,” growled another man.
    “That boy is fool enough, bless him,” said Uncle Anson. “And I know my brother Ott would have climbed in an instant to save him. There’s fools and fools, my friend. I’m going. Gertrude, where’s my cap? I’m going and I’ll go alone if I have to.”
    “I’ll go, then,” said one man.
    “I, too,” said another. “And I’ll bring along my bell,” And then they were all going, hurrying out into the drenching rain while high above the moaning rose and fell, winding and rippling like ribbon down the night.

    But Egan was half an hour ahead by that time. And he was young and strong, alone—and determined. After his first fear, he had clenched his fists and scowled. His early jealousy of the cliff’s high pride returned. He searched about him among the trees and found a long, sharp stick.
    “Look out up there!” he yelled into the rain. “I’m coming up!”
    Off he went again, Annabelle struggling along behind him. And by the time his rescuers were beginning the climb, Egan had come nearly to the top, and the mist that hung there reached out gently and gathered him in.

    Egan stood uncertainly in the mist. The rain was easing off. There had been no sound from the Megrimum for many minutes now. A mumble of thunder complained from far away and then the clouds parted and the moon rode free. Instantly the mist was luminous, and Egan, with a gasp, felt as if he had suddenly been tucked inside a bubble. Looking up, he saw the moon as a shapeless radiance, like a candle seen through steamy glass. Each drop of moisture in the mist had become a tiny prism, filtering and fanning the dim light into a million pale rainbows of softest color. From a shrouded treetop nearby came the soft, clear notes of a bird’s call and, with the faintest of rustles, a small red kneeknock bird floated through the mist ahead of him. Egan held his breath and stared at the