Text C Inside the caravan, I stood on a chair and lit the oil lamp in the ceiling. I had some weekend homework to do and this was as good a time as any to do it. I laid my books on the table and sat down. But I found it impossible to keep my mind on my work. The clock showed half past seven. This was the twilight time. He would be there now. I pictured him in his old navy blue sweater and peaked cap, walking soft-footed up the track towards the wood. He told me he wore the sweater because navy-blue hardly showed up in the dark, black was even better, he said. The peaked cap was important too, he explained, because the peak casts a shadow over one's face. Just about now he would be wriggling through the hedge and entering the wood. Inside the wood, I could see him treading carefully over the leafy ground, stopping, listening, going on again and all the time searching and searching for the keeper who would be standing somewhere, as still as a post, behind a big tree with a gun under his arm. Keepers hardly move at all when they are in a wood watching for poachers (偷猎者), he had told me. They stand dead still right up against the trunk of a tree and it's not easy to spot a motionless man in that position at twilight. I closed my books. It was no good trying to work. I decided to go to bed instead. I left the lamp burning. Soon I fell asleep. When I opened my eyes again, the oil-lamp was still glowing and the clock on the wall showed ten minutes past two. I was out of my bunk and looked into the bunk above mine. It was empty. He promised he would be home by ten thirty at the latest and he never broke promises. At that moment, a frightful sense of doom came over me. Something really had happened to him this time. I felt quite certain of it.