door close after them. He crept up to the front
windows and stuck his head in: there was no
one there. He could always detect the pres-
ence of any one in a room. He put one foot
over the window sill and straddled it. His
mother had told him over and over how his
master would give him to the big mastiff if
he ever found him "meddling." Samson had
got too near the mastiff's kennel once, and
had felt his terrible breath in his face. He
thought about that, but he pulled in his other
foot.

Through the dark he found his way to the
Thing, to its mouth. He touched it softly, and
it answered softly, kindly. He shivered and
stood still. Then he began to feel it all over,
ran his finger-tips along the slippery sides, em-
braced the carved legs, tried to get some con-
ception of its shape and size, of the space it
occupied in primeval night. It was cold and
hard, and like nothing else in his black universe.
He went back to its mouth, began at one end of
the keyboard and felt his way down into the
mellow thunder, as far as he could go. He
seemed to know that it must be done with
the fingers, not with the fists or the feet. He
approached this highly artificial instrument

[[213]]

p212 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p213w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p214

v?