“He does not mean to bite,” said Herr Heinrich.  “Because when he has bit me he is sorry.  He is ashamed.

“You can see he is ashamed.”

Assisted by the two small boys, Herr Heinrich presently got a huge bough of oak and brought it into his room, converting the entire apartment into the likeness of an aviary.  “For this,” said Herr Heinrich, looking grave and diplomatic through his glasses, “Billy will be very grateful.  And it will give him confidence with me.  It will make him feel we are in the forest together.”

Mrs. Britling came to console her husband in the matter.

“It is not right that the bedroom should be filled with trees.  All sorts of dust and litter came in with it.”

“If it amuses him,” said Mr. Britling.

“But it makes work for the servants.”

“Do they complain?”

“No.”

“Things will adjust themselves.  And it is amusing that he should do such a thing....”

And now Billy had disappeared, and Herr Heinrich was on the verge of tears.  It was so ungrateful of Billy.  Without a word.

“They leave my window open,” he complained to Mr. Direck.  “Often I have askit them not to.  And of course he did not understand.  He has out climbit by the ivy.  Anything may have happened to him.  Anything.  He is not used to going out alone.  He is too young.

“Perhaps if I call—­”

And suddenly he had gone off round the house crying:  “Beelee!  Beelee!  Here is an almond for you!  An almond, Beelee!”

“Makes me want to get up and help,” said Mr. Direck.  “It’s a tragedy.”

Everybody else was helping.  Even the gardener and his boy knocked off work and explored the upper recesses of various possible trees.

“He is too young,” said Herr Heinrich, drifting back....  And then presently:  “If he heard my voice I am sure he would show himself.  But he does not show himself.”

It was clear he feared the worst....

At supper Billy was the sole topic of conversation, and condolence was in the air.  The impression that on the whole he had displayed rather a brutal character was combated by Herr Heinrich, who held that a certain brusqueness was Billy’s only fault, and told anecdotes, almost sacred anecdotes, of the little creature’s tenderer, nobler side.  “When I feed him always he says, ‘Thank you,’” said Herr Heinrich.  “He never fails.”  He betrayed darker thoughts.  “When I went round by the barn there was a cat that sat and looked at me out of a laurel bush,” he said.  “I do not like cats.”

Mr. Lawrence Carmine, who had dropped in, was suddenly reminded of that lugubrious old ballad, “The Mistletoe Bough,” and recited large worn fragments of it impressively.  It tells of how a beautiful girl hid away in a chest during a Christmas game of hide-and-seek, and how she was found, a dried vestige, years afterwards.  It took a very powerful hold upon Herr Heinrich’s imagination.  “Let us now,” he said, “make an examination of every box and cupboard and drawer.  Marking each as we go....”