Gabriel Ernest by Saki, by Saki, read by Mike Bennett. There is a wild beast in your woods, said the artist Cunningham as he was being driven to the station.

It was the only remark he had made during the drive, but as Van Chiel

had talked incessantly, his companion's silence had not been noticeable.

Oh, stray fox or two and some resident weasles, nothing more formidable, said Van Sheil.

The artist said nothing.

What did you mean about a wild beast? said Van Sheel later when they were on the platform.

Nothing, my imagination. Here is the train," said Cunningham.

That afternoon Van Chiel went for one of his frequent rambles through his woodland property.

He had a stuffed biton in his study and knew the names of quite a number of wild flowers,

so his aunt had possibly some justification in describing him as a great naturalist.

At any rate, he was a great walker. It was his custom to make

mental notes of everything he saw during his walks, not so much for the purpose of assisting

contemporary science as to provide topics for conversation

afterwards. When the Blue Bells began to show themselves in Flower, he made a point of informing

every one of the fact. The season of the year might have warned his hearers of the likelihood of such an

occurrence, but at least they felt he was being absolutely frank with them.

What Van Sheel saw on this particular afternoon was, however, something

far removed from his ordinary range of experience. On a shelf of smooth stone overhanging a deep pool in the hollow of an

oak coppice, a boy of about sixteen lay a sprawl, drying his wet brown limbs luxuriously in the sun.

His wet hair parted by a recent dive lay close to his head and his light brown eyes, so light that there was an

almost tigerish gleam in them, were turned towards Van Sheil with a certain lazy watchfulness.

It was an unexpected apparition,

...