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occasion he said good…bye on the step。 Nothing remarkable in
this； but he did not return to me； not that day nor next day nor
in weeks and months。 I was a man distraught； and David wore his
knuckles in his eyes。 Conceive it； we had lost our dear Porthos
at leastwellsomething disquieting happened。 I don't quite know
what to think of it even now。 I know what David thinks。
However； you shall think as you choose。
My first hope was that Porthos had strolled to the Gardens and
got locked in for the night； and almost as soon as Lock…out was
over I was there to make inquiries。 But there was no news of
Porthos； though I learned that someone was believed to have spent
the night in the Gardens； a young gentleman who walked out
hastily the moment the gates were opened。 He had said nothing；
however； of having seen a dog。 I feared an accident now； for I
knew no thief could steal him； yet even an accident seemed
incredible； he was always so cautious at crossings； also there
could not possibly have been an accident to Porthos without there
being an accident to something else。
David in the middle of his games would suddenly remember the
great blank and step aside to cry。 It was one of his qualities
that when he knew he was about to cry he turned aside to do it
and I always respected his privacy and waited for him。 Of course
being but a little boy he was soon playing again； but his sudden
floods of feeling； of which we never spoke； were dear to me in
those desolate days。
We had a favourite haunt； called the Story…seat； and we went back
to that； meaning not to look at the grass near it where Porthos
used to squat； but we could not help looking at it sideways； and
to our distress a man was sitting on the acquainted spot。 He
rose at our approach and took two steps toward us； so quick that
they were almost jumps； then as he saw that we were passing
indignantly I thought I heard him give a little cry。
I put him down for one of your garrulous fellows who try to lure
strangers into talk； but next day； when we found him sitting on
the Story…seat itself； I had a longer scrutiny of him。 He was
dandiacally dressed； seemed to tell something under twenty years
and had a handsome wistful face atop of a heavy； lumbering；
almost corpulent figure； which however did not betoken
inactivity； for David's purple hat （a conceit of his mother's of
which we were both heartily ashamed） blowing off as we neared him
he leapt the railings without touching them and was back with it
in three seconds； only instead of delivering it straightway he
seemed to expect David to chase him for it。
You have introduced yourself to David when you jump the railings
without touching them； and William Paterson （as proved to be his
name） was at once our friend。 We often found him waiting for us
at the Story…seat； and the great stout fellow laughed and wept
over our tales like a three…year…old。 Often he said with
extraordinary pride； 〃You are telling the story to me quite as
much as to David； ar'n't you？〃 He was of an innocence such as
you shall seldom encounter； and believed stories at which even
David blinked。 Often he looked at me in quick alarm if David
said that of course these things did not really happen； and
unable to resist that appeal I would reply that they really did。
I never saw him irate except when David was still sceptical； but
then he would say quite warningly 〃He says it is true； so it must
be true。〃 This brings me to that one of his qualities； which at
once gratified and pained me； his admiration for myself。 His
eyes； which at times had a rim of red； were ever fixed upon me
fondly except perhaps when I told him of Porthos and said that
death alone could have kept him so long from my side。 Then
Paterson's sympathy was such that he had to look away。 He was
shy of speaking of himself so I asked him no personal questions；
but concluded that his upbringing must have been lonely； to
account for his ignorance of affairs； and loveless； else how
could he have felt such a drawing to me？
I remember very well the day when the strange； and surely
monstrous； suspicion first made my head tingle。 We had been
blown； the three of us； to my rooms by a gust of rain； it was
also； I think； the first time Paterson had entered them。 〃Take
the sofa； Mr。 Paterson；〃 I said； as I drew a chair nearer to the
fire； and for the moment my eyes were off him。 Then I saw that；
before sitting down on the sofa； he was spreading the day's paper
over it。 〃Whatever makes you do that？〃 I asked； and he started
like one bewildered by the question； then went white and pushed
the paper aside。
David had noticed nothing； but I was strangely uncomfortable；
and； despite my efforts at talk； often lapsed into silence； to be
roused from it by a feeling that Paterson was looking at me
covertly。 Pooh！ what vapours of the imagination were these。 I
blew them from me； and to prove to myself； so to speak； that they
were dissipated； I asked him to see David home。 As soon as I was
alone； I flung me down on the floor laughing； then as quickly
jumped up and was after them； and very sober too； for it was come
to me abruptly as an odd thing that Paterson had set off without
asking where David lived。
Seeing them in front of me； I crossed the street and followed。
They were walking side by side rather solemnly； and perhaps
nothing remarkable happened until they reached David's door。 I
say perhaps； for something did occur。 A lady； who has several
pretty reasons for frequenting the Gardens； recognised David in
the street； and was stooping to address him； when Paterson did
something that alarmed her。 I was too far off to see what it
was； but had he growled 〃Hands off！〃 she could not have scurried
away more precipitately。 He then ponderously marched his charge
to the door； where； assuredly； he did a strange thing。 Instead
of knocking or ringing； he stood on the step and called out
sharply； 〃Hie； hie； hie！〃 until the door was opened。
The whimsy； for it could be nothing more； curtailed me of my
sleep that night； and you may picture me trying both sides of the
pillow。
I recalled other queer things of Paterson； and they came back to
me charged with new meanings。 There was his way of shaking
hands。 He now did it in the ordinary way； but when first we knew
him his arm had described a circle； and the hand had sometimes
missed mine and come heavily upon my chest instead。 His walk；
again； might more correctly have been called a waddle。
There were his perfervid thanks。 He seldom departed without
thanking me with an intensity that was out of proportion to the
little I had done for him。 In the Gardens； too； he seemed ever
to take the sward rather than the seats； perhaps a wise
preference； but he had an unusual way of sitting down。 I can
describe it only by saying that he let go of himself and went
down with a thud。
I reverted to the occ