Fred appeared behind her, in trousers and shirt.

“Where is he?” he asked.

He looked at the flood, then at his mother. She seemed small and uncanny, elvish, in her nightdress.

“Go upstairs,” he said. “He'll be in th' stable.”

“To — om! To — om!” cried the elderly woman, with a long, unnatural, penetrating call that chilled her son to the marrow. He quickly pulled on his boots and his coat.

“Go upstairs, mother,” he said; “I'll go an' see where he is.”

“To — om! To — o — om!” rang out the shrill, unearthly cry of the small woman.