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imported creatures. Just the same, something's got to be done. Leave it here on the road? That would be a pity. Ride right past it? But that horse of mine won't budge, not even if I yell at the top of my voice. Maybe I ought to call Zatchuk to give me a hand? He's pretty ancient, it's true, but still he can manage to hold his own. And while I'm thinking that way, I cross the road and jump over the fence-when suddenly my heart seems to sort of act up... Just the same I keep on going, march up to the hut and grab the latch, turn it once and turn it again. Hey Zatchuk! I want to call out, but somehow or other I can't find my voice. Then I feel my hair beginning to stand on end. Through the old man's window I see another tremendous flash of light. I want to turn back and run, but I take a tumble, and there's a peal of wild laughter, the kind that takes the breath out of your body. I gather all my strength and start to pick myself up, when I see that the sheep out in the middle of the road has reared himself on his hind legs, like a man, and is giving out with a 'baa-a-a' fierce enough to make the blood freeze in your veins.

"'And then, while I'm staring at the creature, it starts to dance, claps three times with its front paws-and disappears.'"

  • * *

"You know," Gertrude said, when Anna had finished the story, "I always loved your father. Maybe it's because I lost my own so young. And now, when I remind myself of him, my heart almost melts with longing. If only your father were here," Gertrude sighed.

Anna didn't answer. She saw her father, his shoulders bent over the Bible. The wind was whistling outside, the glass

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