athwart their vision, and presently plunged into the tunnel out of their sight, looked by contrast with them like some small-sized automatic toy.
"They have made all the woods this side of Ightham out of bounds," said one, "and moved the board that was out by Knockholt two miles and more this way."
"It is the least they could do," said the youngest, after a pause. "They are trying to take the wind out of Caterham's sails."
"It's not enough for that, and--it is almost too much for us," said the third.
"They are cutting us off from Brother Redwood. Last time I went to him the red notices had crept a mile in, either way. The road to him along the Downs is no more than a narrow lane."
The speaker thought. "What has come to our brother Redwood?"
"Why?" said the eldest brother.
The speaker backed a bough from his pine. "He was like--as though he wasn't awake. He didn't seem to listen to what I had to say. And he said something of--love."
The youngest tapped his girder on the edge of his iron sole and laughed. "Brother Redwood," he said, "has dreams."
Neither spoke for a space. Then the eldest brother said, "This cooping up and cooping up grows more than I can bear. At last, I believe, they will draw a line round our boots and tell us to live on that."
The middle brother swept aside a heap of pine boughs with one hand and shifted his atti
