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diff --git a/old/62278.txt b/old/62278.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ef2105e..0000000 --- a/old/62278.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10124 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Son of Courage, by Archie P. McKishnie - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: A Son of Courage - -Author: Archie P. McKishnie - -Release Date: May 29, 2020 [EBook #62278] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SON OF COURAGE *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines - - - - - - - - -[Frontispiece: "Oh, aren't they lovely!" cried Erie.] - - - - - A Son _of_ Courage - - - By - - Archie P. McKishnie - - - _Author of Love of the Wild, - Willow, the Wisp, etc._ - - - - The Reilly & Lee Co. - Chicago - - - - - Copyright, 1920 - By - The Reilly & Lee Co. - - All Rights Reserved - - Made in U. S. A. - - - A Son of Courage - - - - - To my sister, - Jean Blewitt, who knew and - loved its characters this book - is lovingly dedicated. - The Author. - - - - -CONTENTS - -CHAPTER - - 1 Billy Wilson's Strategy - 2 A Shower of Fish - 3 Appraising the New Teacher - 4 The Message Croaker Brought - 5 A Wilderness Merchant - 6 The Ruse That Failed - 7 The Rabbit Foot Charm - 8 Luck Rides the Storm - 9 Moving the Menagerie - 10 In Lost Man's Swamp - 11 Educating the New Boy - 12 Old Harry Makes a Find - 13 Erie of the Light-House - 14 Old Harry Turns a Trick - 15 Billy's Problems Multiply - 16 Billy Meets a Divinity - 17 The Dread Day Dawns - 18 The Mettle of the Breed - 19 Croaker Brings a Gift - 20 Billy Meets a Lovely Ghost - 21 A Day with the Ducks - 22 Teacher Johnston Resigns - 23 Mr. Hinter Proves a Puzzle - 24 Billy to the Rescue - 25 Mr. Hinter Makes a Confession - 26 A Golden Wedding Gift - - - - -A SON OF COURAGE - - - -CHAPTER I - -BILLY WILSON'S STRATEGY - -Mrs. Wilson lit the coal-oil lamp and placed it in the center of the -kitchen table; then she turned toward the door, her head half bent in -a listening attitude. - -A brown water-spaniel waddled from the woodshed into the room, four -bright-eyed puppies at her heels, and stood half in the glow, half in -the shadow, short tail ingratiatingly awag. - -"Scoot you!" commanded the woman, and with a wild scurry mother dog -and puppies turned and fled to the friendly darkness of their retreat. - -Mrs. Wilson stood with frowning gaze fastened on the door. She was a -tall, angular woman of some forty years, heavy of features, as she -was when occasion demanded it, heavy of hand. Tiny fret-lines marred -a face which under less trying conditions of life might have been -winsome, but tonight the lips of the generous mouth were tightly -compressed and the rise and fall of the bosom beneath the low cut -flannel gown hinted of a volcano that would ere long erupt to the -confusion of somebody. - -As a quick step sounded outside, she lowered herself slowly to a -high-backed chair and waited, hands locked closely upon her lap. - -The door opened and her husband entered. He cast a quick, -apprehensive glance at his wife, and the low whistle died on his lips -as he passed over to the long roller towel hanging above the -wash-bench and proceeded to dry his hands. - -He was a medium sized man, with brown wavy hair and a beard which -failed to conceal the glad boyishness of a face that would never -quite be old. The eyes he turned upon the woman when she sharply -spoke his name were blue and tranquil. - -"Yes, Mary?" he responded gently. - -"I want'a tell you that I'm tired of bein' the slave of you an' your -son," she burst out. "One of these days I'll be packin' up and goin' -to my home folks in Nova Scotia." - -Wilson averted his face and proceeded to straighten the towel on the -roller. His action seemed to infuriate the woman. - -Her lips tightened. Her hands unclenched and gripped the table as -she slowly arose. - -"You--" she commenced, her voice tense with passion, "you--" she -checked herself. Unconsciously one of the groping hands had come in -contact with the soft leather cover of a book which lay on the table. - -It was the family Bible. She had placed it there after reading her -son Anson his evening chapter. Slowly she mastered herself and sank -back into her chair. - -Wilson came over and laid a work-hardened hand gently on her heaving -shoulder. - -"Mary," he said, "what is it? What have I done?" - -"Oh," she cried miserably, "what haven't you done, Tom Wilson? -Didn't you bring me here to this lonesome spot when I was happy with -my son, happy an' contented?" - -"But I told you you'd like find it some lonesome, Mary, you remember?" - -"Yes, but did you so much as hint at what awful things I'd have to -live through here? Not you! Did you tell me that an old miser 'ud -die and his ghost ha'nt this neighborhood? Did you tell me that -blindness 'ud strike one of the best and most useful young men low? -Did you tell me," she ran wildly on, "that the sweetest girl in the -world 'ud be dyin' of a heartbreak? Did you tell me anythin', Tom -Wilson, that a woman who was leavin' her own home folks, to work for -you and your son, should a' been told?" - -Wilson sighed. "How was I to know these things would happen, Mary? -It's been hard haulin', I know, but someday it won't be so hard. -Maybe now, you'd find it easier if you didn't shoulder everybody -else's trouble, like you do--" - -"Shut right up!" she flared, "I'm a Christian woman, Tom Wilson. Do -you think I could face God on my knees if I failed in my duty to the -sick as calls fer me? Why, I couldn't sleep if I didn't do what -little I'm able to do fer them in trial; I'd hear weak voices -acallin' me, I'd see pain-wild eyes watchin' fer me to come an' help -their first-born into the world." - -"But, Mary, there's a doctor at Bridgetown now and--" - -"Doctors!" she cried scornfully. "Little enough they know the needs -of a woman at such a time. A doctor may be all right in his place, -but his place ain't here among us woods folk. I tell you now I know -my duty an' I'll do it because they need me." - -"We all need you, Mary," spoke her husband quickly. "Didn't I tell -you that when I persuaded you to come? I need you; Billy needs you." - -She looked up at him, tears filming the fire of anger in her eyes. - -"No," she said in low tense tones, "your son don't need me. I'm -nuthin' to him. Sometimes I think--I think he cares--'cause I'm -longin' fer it, I guess. But somehow he seems to be lookin' beyond -me to someone else." - -Wilson sighed and sank into a chair. - -"I guess maybe it's your fancy playin' pranks on you, Mary," he -suggested hesitatingly. "Two years of livin' in this lonesome spot -has kinder got on your nerves." - -"Nerves!" she cried indignantly, sitting bolt upright. "Don't you -'er anybody else dare accuse me of havin' nerves, Tom Wilson. If I -wasn't the most sensible-minded person alive I'd be throwin' fits er -goin' off into gallopin' hysterics every hour, with the things that -Willium does to scare the life out of a body." - -"What's Billy been doin' now?" asked Wilson anxiously. - -She shivered. "Nothin' out'a the ordinary. What's that limb allars -doin' to scare the daylights clean outa me an' the neighbors? If -you'd spend a little more of your spare time in the house with your -wife an' less in the barn with your precious stock you wouldn't need -to be askin' what he's been adoin'. But I'll tell you what he did -only this evenin' afore you come home from changin' words with Cobin -Keeler. - -"Missus Scraff--you know what a fidgety fly-off-the-handle she is, -an' how she suffers from the asthma--well, she'd come over an' was -stayin' to supper. I sent that Willium out on the back ridge to -gather some wild thimble-berries fer dessert. He comes in just as I -had the table all set, that wicked old coon he's made a pet of at his -heels an' that devil-eyed crow, Croaker, on his shoulder. Afore I -could get hold of the broom, he put the covered pail on the table an' -went out ag'in. The coon follered him, but that crow jumped right -onto the table an' grabbed a piece of cake. I made a dash at him an' -he flopped to Missus Scraff's shoulder. She was chewin' a piece of -slippery-ellum bark fer her asthma, an' when his claws gripped her -shoulder she shrieked an' like to 'a' choked to death on it. - -"It took me all of half an hour to get her quieted, an' then I made -to show her what nice berries we got from our back ridge. 'Jest hold -your apron, Mrs. Scraff, an' I'll give you a glimpse of what we're -goin' to top our supper off with,' I says, strivin' to get the poor -soul's mind off herself. - -"She held out her apron, an' I lefted the lid off the pail and pours -what's in it into her lap. - -"An' what d'ye 'spose was in that pail, Tom Wilson? Four garter -snakes and a lizard; that's what your precious son had gone out and -gathered fer our dessert. I spilled the whole caboodle of 'em into -her apron afore I noticed, an' she give one screech an' fainted dead -away. While I was busy bringin' her around, that Willium sneaked in -an' gathered them squirmin' reptiles off the floor. I couldn' do -more jest then than look him a promise to settle with him later, -'cause I had my hands full as it was. I found a pail of berries on -the table when I got a chance to look about me, an' I ain't sayin' -but that boy got them pails mixed, but that don't excuse him none." - -Wilson, striving to keep his face grave, nodded. "That's how it's -been, I guess, Mary. He kin no more help pickin' up every snake and -animal he comes across then he kin help breathin'. But he don't mean -any harm, Billy don't." - -"That's neither here ner there," she snapped. "He doesn't seem to -care what harm he does. An' the hard part of it is," she burst out, -"I can't take no pleasure in whalin' him same as I might if I was his -real mother; I jest can't, that's all. He has a way of lookin' at me -out'a them big, grey eyes of his'n--" - -The voice choked up and a tear splashed down on the hand clenched on -her lap. - -Comfortingly her husband's hand covered it from sight, as though he -sought to achieve by this small token of understanding that which he -could not hope to achieve by mere words. - -She caught her breath quickly and a flush stole up beneath the sun -and wind stain on her cheeks. There was that in the pressure of the -hand on hers, strong yet tender, which swept the feeling of -loneliness from her heart. - -"Mary," said the man, "I guess neither of us understand Billy and -maybe we never will, quite. I've often tried to tell you how much -your willin'ness to face this life here meant to him and me but I'm -no good at that sort'a thing. I just hoped you'd understan', that's -all." - -"Well, I'm goin' to do my duty by you both, allars," Mrs. Wilson -spoke in matter-of-fact tones, as she reached for her sewing-basket. -"When I feel you need checkin' up, Tom Wilson, checked you're goin' -to be, an' when Willium needs a hidin' he's goin' to get a hidin'. -An'," she added, as her husband got up from his chair, saying -something about having to turn the horses out to pasture, "you -needn't try to side-track me from my duty neither." - -"All right, Mary," he agreed, his hand on the door-latch. - -"An' if you're agoin' out to the barn do try'nd not carry any more of -the barn-yard in on your big feet than you kin help. I jest finished -moppin' the floors." - -Wilson stepped out into the spicy summer darkness and went slowly -down the path to the barn. As far as eye could reach, through the -partially cleared forest, tiny clearing fires glowed up through the -darkness, seeming to vie with big low hanging stars. The pungent -smoke of burning log and sward mingled pleasantly with the scent of -fern and wild blossoms. - -Wilson lit his pipe and with arms folded on the top rail of the -barnyard fence gazed down across the partially-cleared, fire-dotted -sweep to where, a mile distant, a long, densely timbered point of -land stood darkly silhouetted against the sheen of a rising moon. - -From the bay-waters came the lonely cry of a loon, from the marshes -the booming of night-basking bullfrogs. The hoot of the owl sounded -faintly from the forest beyond; the yap of a foraging fox drifted -through the night's stillness from the uplands. - -A long time Wilson stood pondering. When at length he bestirred -himself a full moon swam above a transfigured world. A silvery sheen -swept softly the open spaces; through the trees the white bay-waters -shimmered; the clearing fires had receded to mere sparks with silvery -smoke trails stretching straight up towards a starred infinity. - -He sighed and turned to glance back at the cottage resting in the -hardwood grove. It looked very homey, very restful to him, beneath -its vines of clustering wild-grape and honeysuckle. It was -home--home it must be always. And Mary loved it just as he loved it; -this he knew. She was a fine woman, a great helpmate, a wonderful -wife and mother. She was fair minded too. She loved Billy quite as -much as she loved her own son, Anson. Billy must be more careful, -more thoughtful of her comfort. He would have a heart to heart talk -with his son, he told himself as he went on to the barn. - -He completed his chores and went thoughtfully back up the -flower-edged path to the house. "There's one good thing about Mary's -crossness," he reflected, "it don't last long. She'll be her old -cheerful self ag'in by now." - -But Mrs. Wilson was not her old cheerful self; far from it. Wilson -realized this fact as soon as he opened the door. She raised stern -eyes to her husband as he entered. - -"You see them?" she asked with sinister calmness, pointing to a -patched and clay-stained pair of trousers on the floor beside her -chair. "Them's Willium's. He's jest gone to bed an' I ordered him -to throw 'em down to be patched." - -Wilson nodded, "Yes, Mary?" - -"And do you see this here object that I'm holdin' up afore your -dotin' father's eyes?" - -He came forward and took the object from her hand. - -"It also belongs to your dear, gentle son," she grated, "leastwise I -found it in one of his pants pockets." - -Wilson whistled softly. "You don't say!" he managed to articulate. -"Why, Mary, it's a pipe!" - -"Is it?" - -"Yes, a corn-cob pipe," he repeated weakly. - -"Is it re'lly?" she returned with sarcasm. "I wasn't sure. I thort -maybe it was a fish-line, or a jack-knife. Now what do you think of -your precious son?" she demanded. - -Wilson shook his head. "It's a new pipe," he ventured to say, "and," -sniffing the bowl, "it ain't had nuthin' more deadly than dried -mullen leaves in it so far. Ain't a great deal of harm in a boy -smokin' mullen leaves, shorely, Mary." - -"Oh, is that so? Haven't I heered you an' Cobin Keeler say, time and -ag'in, that that's how you both got the smoke-habit? And look at you -old chimbneys now; the pipe's never out'a your mouths." - -"I'll talk things over with Billy in the mornin'," promised Wilson as -he took the boot-jack from its peg. - -"A pile of good your talkin''ll do," she cried. "I'm goin' to talk -things over with that boy with a hickory ram-rod, jest as soon as I -feel he's proper asleep; that's what I'm goin' to do! Who's trainin' -that boy, you er me?" she demanded. - -"You, of course, Mary." - -"Well then, you best let me be. What I feel he should get, he's -goin' to get, and get right. You keep out'a this, Tom Wilson, if you -want me to keep on; that's all." - -"It don't seem right to wake boys up just to give 'em a whalin', -Mary," he protested. "My Ma used to wake me up sometimes, but never -to whale me. I'd rather remember--" - -"Shut up! I tell yun, I'm goin' to give him the hickory this night -or I'm goin' to know the reason why. I'll break that boy of his bad -habits er I'll break my arm tryin'. You let me be!" - -"I'm not findin' fault with your methods of trainin' boys, Mary," her -husband hastened to say. "You're doin' your best by Billy, I know -that right well. And Billy is rather a tough stick of first-growth -timber to whittle smooth and straight, I know that, too. But the -gnarliest hickory makes the best axe-handle, so maybe he'll make a -good man some day, with your help." - -"Humph! well that bein' so, I'm goin' to help him see the error of -his ways this night if ever I did," she promised grimly. - -Something like a muffled chuckle came from behind the stairway door, -but the good woman, intent on her grievance, did not hear it. Wilson -heard, however, and let the boot-jack fall to the floor with a -clatter. He picked it up and carried it over to its accustomed peg -on the wall, whistling softly the tune which he had whistled to Billy -in the old romping, astride-neck days: - - Oh, you'd better be up, and away, lad. - You better be up and away! - There is danger here in the glade, lad, - It's a heap of trouble you've made, lad-- - So you'd better be up and away! - - -Over beside the table, Mrs. Wilson watched him from somber eyes. - -"That's right!" she sighed. "Whistle! It shows all you care. That -boy could do anythin' he wanted to do an' you wouldn't say a word; -no, not a word!" - -Wilson did not answer. He was listening for the stairs to creak, -telling him that Billy had left his eaves-dropping for the security -of the loft. - -Billy had heard and understood. When his dad sent him one of those -"up and away" signals he never questioned its significance. He -didn't like listening in secret, but surely he reasoned, a boy had a -right to know just what was coming to him. And he knew what was -coming to him, all right--a caning from the supple hickory -ramrod--maybe! - -Up in the roomy loft which he and his step-brother, Anson, shared -together, he lit the lamp. Anson was sleeping and Billy wondered -just what he would say when he woke up in the morning and found his -pants gone. Their mother had demanded that a pair of pants be thrown -down to her. Billy needed his own so he had thrown down Anson's. - -But how in the world was he ever going to get out of that window with -Anson's bed right up against it, and Anson sleeping in the bed? -Anson would be sure to hear the ladder when Walter Watland and -Maurice Keeler raised it against the wall. He must get Anson up and -out of that bed! - -Billy placed the lamp on a chair and reaching over shook Anson's -long, regular snore into fragments of little gasps. He shook harder -and Anson sat up, sandy hair rumpled and pale blue eyes blinking in -the light. - -"What's'amatter?" he asked sleepily. - -"Hush," cautioned Billy. "Ma's downstairs wide awake and she's awful -cross. What you been doin' to rile her, Anse?" - -Anson frowned and scratched his head. "Did you tell her 'bout my -lettin' the pigs get in the garden when I was tendin' gap this -afternoon?" he asked suspiciously. - -"No, it ain't that. I guess maybe she's worried more'n cross, an' -she's scared too--scared stiff. Well, who wouldn't be with that -awful thing prowlin' around ready to claw the insides out'a people in -their sleep?" - -Anson sat up suddenly. - -"What you talkin' 'bout, Bill? What thing? Who's it been clawin'? -Hurry up, tell me." - -Billy glanced at the window, poorly protected by a cotton mosquito -screen, and shivered. - -"Nobody knows what it is," he whispered. "Some say it's a gorilla -and others say it's a big lynx. Ol' Harry's the only one who saw it, -an' he's so clawed and bit he can't describe it to nobody." - -"Great Scott! Bill, you mean to say it got ol' Harry?" - -Billy nodded. "Yep, last night. He was asleep when that thing -climbed in his winder an' tried to suck his blood away." - -"Ugh!" Anson shuddered and pulled the bed clothes up about his ears. -"How did it get it, Bill! Does anybody know?" - -"Well, there was a tree standin' jest outside his winder same as that -tree stands outside this one. It climbed that tree and jumped -through the mosquito nettin' plumb onto ol' Harry. He was able to -tell the doctor that much afore he caved under." - -Anson's blue eyes were staring at the wide unprotected window. -Outside, the moon swam hazily above the forest; shadows like huge, -misshapen monsters prowled on the sward; weird sounds floated up and -died on the still air. - -"Bill," Anson's voice was shaking, "I don't feel like sleepin' -longside this winder. That awful thing might come shinnin' up that -tree an' gulp me up. I'm goin' down and ask Ma if I can't sleep out -in the shed with Moll an' the pups." - -Billy promptly scented a new danger to his plans. "If I was you I -wouldn't do that, Anse," he advised. - -"Well, I'm goin' to do it." Anson sat up in bed and peered onto the -floor. - -"Where the dickens are my pants?" he whispered. "See anythin' of -'em, Bill?" - -"Anse," Billy's voice was sympathetic. "I see I have to tell you -everythin'. Ma, she's goin' fo give you the canin' of your young -life, jest as soon as she thinks we're proper asleep." - -"Canin'? Me? Whatfer?" - -"Why, seems she was up here lookin' fer somethin' a little while ago. -She saw your pants layin' there an' she thought maybe they needed -patchin', so she took 'em down with her." - -"Well, what of it?" - -"Oh, nuthin', only she happened to find a pipe in one of the pockets, -that's all." - -"Jerusalem!" Anson's teeth chattered. "Well, I'm goin' down anyway. -I don't mind a hidin', but I'm derned if I'm goin' to lay here and -get clawed up by no gorilla." - -"Anse, listen," Billy put a detaining hand on his brother's shoulder. -"You don't need to do that, an' you needn't sleep in this bed -neither. I'll sleep in it, an' you kin sleep in mine. That gorilla, -er whatever it is, can't hurt me, cause I've got that rabbit-foot -charm that Tom Dodge give me. I'll tie it round my neck." - -Anson reflected, shuddering as a long low wail came from the forest. - -"That's the boys," Billy told himself. "I've gotta move fast." - -Aloud he urged: "Come on, Anse. Get Out an' pile into my bed. I -ain't scared to sleep in yours, not a bit. Besides," he added, -"it'll save you a canin' from Ma." - -"How will it, I'd like to know?" - -"Why this way. Ma'll come creepin' up here in the dark, when she -thinks we're asleep an' she'll come straight to this--your bed. -She'll turn down the clothes an' give me a slash or two, thinkin' -it's you. I'll let her baste me some--then I'll speak to her. -She'll be so surprised she'll ferget all about whalin' you. She's -that way, you know. Like as not she'll laugh to think she basted -me--an' she'll be good-natured. You needn't worry any about a -lickin', Anse." - -"Well, I'll take a chance, Bill." - -Anson got out of bed, his white legs gleaming in the yellow -lamp-light as he tiptoed softly across to Billy's cot and lay down. - -Billy blew out the lamp and went through the motions of undressing. -He removed one shoe, let it fall on the floor, waited an interval and -let the same shoe fall again. Then he put it back on. By and by he -lay down and gave a long, weary sigh. Then he held his breath and -listened. - -Below his window sounded a whippoorwill's call. From the opposite -side of the room came the long, regular snores of Anson. Billy sat -up in bed and started to remove the tacks from the window screen. - -Something fell with a thud against the wall outside, and brushed -against the boards. A cat mewed directly beneath the window. Gently -Billy rolled the bed quilts into an oblong shape resembling a human -form, then silently made his way out of the window. - -His feet struck the top round of a ladder. A moment more and he was -crouching in the shadow of the wall, two shadowy forms squatting -beside him. - -"All hunky?" a voice whispered in his ear. - -"All hunky," Billy whispered back. - -"Then come on." - -But Billy plucked at the speaker's sleeve. "Wait a minute, Fatty," -he urged. "Anson's up there asleep, an' he's goin' to have a wakin' -nightmare in about four seconds. I jest heard Ma goin' up." - -Silence, deep and brooding, fell. Then suddenly from the loft came a -long wail, followed by a succession of shorter gasps and gulps, and -above the swish of a hickory ram-rod a woman's voice exclaiming -angrily. - -"I'll teach you to smoke on the sly, you young outlaw, you!" - -"Now let's get while the gettin's good," whispered Billy; and the -three crept off into the shadows. - -Down through the night-enshrouded woods the boys made their way -noiselessly, Billy leading, Walter Watland, nicknamed Fatty on -account of his size, close behind him and Maurice Keeler, Billy's -sworn chum and confidant, bringing up the rear. Occasionally a -soft-winged owl fluttered up from its kill, with a muffled "who-who." -Once a heavy object plunged from the trail with a snort, and the boys -felt the flesh along their spines creeping. They kept on without so -much as a word, crossing a swift creek on a fallen tree, holding to -its bank and making a detour into the woods to avoid passing close to -a dilapidated log cabin which in the moonlight bore evidence of -having fallen into disuse. As they skirted the heavy thicket of -pines, which even in the summer night's stillness sighed low and -mournfully, the leader halted suddenly and a low exclamation fell -from his lips. - -"Look!" he whispered. "Look! There's a light in the ha'nted house." - -His companions crept forward and peered through the trees. Sure -enough from the one unglazed window of the old building came the -twinkle of a light, which bobbed about in weird, uncertain fashion. - -"Old Scroggie's ghost huntin' fer the lost money," whispered Walter, -"Oh, gosh! let's leg it!' - -"Leg nuthin'!" Billy removed his hand from his trousers-pocket and -waved something before two pairs of fear-widened eyes. - -"'No ghost kin harm where lies this charm,'" he recited solemnly. -"Now if you fellers feel like beatin' it, why beat it; but so long as -I'm grabbin' onto this left hind foot of a graveyard rabbit I don't -run away from no ghost--not even old man Scroggie's." - -"That's all right fer you, Bill," returned Walter, "but what's goin' -t' happen t' Maurice an' me, supposin' that ghost takes a notion to -gallop this way? That's what I want'a know!" - -Billy turned upon him. "Say, Fatty, haven't I told you that this -here charm protects everybody with me?" he asked cuttingly. - -"There's never been a ghost that ever roamed nights been able to get -near it. You kin ask Tom Dodge er any of the other Injuns if there -has." - -"Oh it might lay an Injun ghost," said the unreasonable Fatty, "but -how about a white man's? How about old man Scroggie's, fer instance? -You know yourself, Bill, old man Scroggie was a tartar. Nobody ever -fooled him while he was alive an' nobody need try now he's dead. If -he wants to come back here an' snoop round lookin' fer the money he -buried an' forgot where, it's his own funeral. I'm fer not mixin' up -in this thing any--" - -"Keep still!" cautioned Billy, "an' look yonder! See it?" - -He pointed through the trees to an open glade in the grove. The full -moon, riding high in the sky, threw her light fair upon the fern-sown -sod; across the glade a white object was moving--drifting straight -toward the watchers. Billy, tightly gripping his rabbit's foot charm -in one sweaty hand and a rough-barked sapling in the other, felt -Walter's hands clutching his shoulders. - -"Oh Jerusalem!" groaned the terrified Fatty, "It's the ghost! Look, -it's sheddin' blue grave-mist! Fer the love of Mike let's git out'a -this!" - -"Wait," gulped Billy, but it was plain to be seen he was wavering. -His feet were getting uneasy, his toes fairly biting holes through -his socks in their eagerness to tear up the sward. But as leader it -would never do for him to show the white feather. - -The approaching terror had drifted into the shadow again. Suddenly, -so near that it fairly seemed to scorch the frowsy top of the sapling -to which he was hanging, a weird blue light twisted upward almost in -Billy's eyes. At the same moment a tiny hoot-owl, sleeping off its -early evening's feed in the cedar close beside the boys, woke up and -gave a ghostly cry. It was too much for overstrained nerves to -stand. Billy felt Fatty's form quiver and leap even before his -agonized howl fell on his ears--a cry which he and Maurice may have -echoed, for all he knew. - -They were fully a mile away from the place of terror before sheer -exhaustion forced them to abate their wild speed and tumble in a heap -beneath a big elm tree, along the trail of the forest. - -For a time they lay gasping and quivering. Maurice Keeler was the -first to speak. "Say, Bill," he shivered, "is it light enough fer -you to see if the hair is scorched off one side o' my head? -That--that ghost's breath shot blue flame square in my face." - -"It grabbed me in its bony fingers," whispered Fatty. "Gosh, it tore -the sleeve fair out'a my shirt. Look!" And to prove the truth of -his statement he lifted a fat arm to which adhered a tattered sleeve. - -Billy sat up and surveyed his companions with disgust. - -"A nice pair of scare-babies you two are," he said, scathingly. "A -great pair you are to help me find old Scroggie's will an' money. -Why, say, if you'd only kept your nerve a little, that ghost would'a -led us right to the spot, most likely; but 'stead o' that you take to -your heels at first sight of it. Say! I thought you both had more -sand." - -Maurice squirmed uncomfortably. "Now look here, Bill," he protested, -"Fatty an' me wasn't any scarter than you was, yourself. Who made -the first jump, I want'a know; who?" - -"Well, who _did_?" snapped Billy, glowering at his two bosom friends. - -"You did," Maurice affirmed. "An' you grabbed Fatty by the arm an' -pulled his shirt sleeve out. I saw you. And you can't say you -didn't run neither, else how did you get here same time as Fatty an' -me?" - -"Well, I didn't run, but I own I _follered_ you," compromised Billy. -"There wasn't anythin' else I could do, was there? How did I know -what you two scared rabbits ud do? You might'a run plumb into Lake -Erie an' got drownded, you was so scared. Somebody's had to keep his -head," he said airily. - -"Well I kept mine by havin' a good pair of legs," groaned Fatty. -"I'm not denyin' that. And by gravy, if they had been good enough -fer a thousand miles I'd've let 'em go the limit. Scared! Oh -yowlin' wildcats! I'll see ghosts an' smell brimstone the rest o' my -life." - -"Boys," cried Billy in awed tones. "It's gone!" - -"What's gone?" asked his companions in a breath. - -Billy was feeling frantically in his pockets. "My rabbit foot -charm," he groaned. "I fell over a log an' it must'a slipped out'a -my pocket." - -"You had it in your hand when th' ghost poked its blue tongue in our -faces," affirmed Maurice. "I saw it." - -"You throwed somethin' at the ghost afore you howled an' run," Fatty -stated. "Maybe it was the rabbit foot?" - -"'No ghost kin harm where lies this charm,'" chuckled Maurice. - -Billy turned on him. "If you want'a make fun of a charm, why all -right, go ahead," he said coldly. "Only I know I wouldn't do it, not -if I wanted it to save me from a ghost, anyway." - -Maurice looked frightened. "I wasn't pokin' fun at the charm, Bill, -cross my heart, I wasn't," he said earnestly. - -"All right then, see that you don't. Now, see here, I'll tell you -somethin'. I did throw my rabbit's foot charm but that was to keep -that ghost from follerin'. Maybe you two didn't hear it snort when -it got to that charm an' tried to pass it, so's to catch up to us; -but I heard it. Oh say, but wouldn't it be mad though?" - -"An' that's why you throwed it," exclaimed the admiring Maurice. -"Gosh, nobody else would'a thought of that." - -"Nobody," echoed Fatty, "nobody but Bill." - -"Well, somebody has to think in a case o' that kind," admitted Billy, -"an' think quick. It was up to me to save you, an' I did the only -thing I could think of right then." - -Just here the whistle of bob-white sounded from a little distance -along the trail. - -"That's Elgin Scraff and Tom Holt comin' to look fer us," cried -Maurice. - -"Answer 'em," said Billy. - -Maurice puckered up his lips and gave an answering call. It was -returned almost immediately. A moment later two more boys came into -the moonlight. - -"We wondered what kept you fellers, so came lookin' fer you," spoke -Tom Holt as they came up. "Thought you'd be comin' by the tamarack -swamp trail, an' we stuck around there fer quite a while, waitin'. -Then Elgin said maybe you had come the ha'nted house way, so we -struck through the bush an' tried to pick up your trail. Once we -thought we saw the ghost, but it turned out to be old Ringold's white -yearlin' steer. It had rubbed up ag'inst some will-o-the-wisp fungus -an' it fair showered sparks of blue fire. If we hadn't heered it -bawlin' we'd have run sure." - -Somewhere behind him Billy heard a giggle, which was immediately -suppressed as he turned and looked over his shoulder. - -"Yep," he replied, "we saw that steer, too. We've been waitin' here, -hopin' we'd hear your whistle. I wonder what time it's gettin' to -be?" - -Tom Holt, the proud possessor of a watch, consulted it. "Ten twelve -an' a half," he answered, holding the dial to the moon-light. -"Sandtown'll be sound asleep. Come on, let's go down to the lake an' -make a haul." - -"I s'pose we might be goin'," said Billy. "All right, fellers, come -along." - -Arriving at the lake the boys learned after careful reconnoitering -that everything was clear for immediate action. Not a light -glimmered from the homes of the fishermen, to show that they were -awake and vigilant. - -The white-fish run was on and when the boys, launching the big -flat-bottomed fish boat, carefully cast and drew in the long seine it -held more great gleaming fish than they knew how to dispose of. - -"Only one thing to do," reasoned Billy, "take what we want an' let -the rest go." - -And this they did. When they left the beach the moon was low above -the Point pines, the draw-seine was back in its place on the big reel -and there was nothing to show the lake fishermen that the Scotia Fish -Supply Company had been operating on their grounds. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -A SHOWER OF FISH - -Between the fishermen of Sandtown and the farmers of the community -existed no very strong bond of sympathy or friendship. The former -were a dissolute, shiftless lot, quite content, with draw-seine and -pound-net, to eke out a miserable existence in the easiest manner -possible. They were tolerated just as the poor and shiftless of any -community are tolerated; their children were allowed to attend the -school the same as the children of the tax-payers. - -Each spring the farmers attended the fishermen's annual bee of -pile-driving, which meant the placing of the stakes for the pound -nets--a dangerous and thankless task. Wet, weary and hungry, they -would return to their homes at night with considerable more faith in -the reward that comes of helping one's fellow-men than in the promise -of the fishermen to keep them supplied, gratis, with all the fresh -fish they needed during the season. - -As far back as any of the farmers could remember the fishermen had -made that promise and in no case had it been fulfilled. So they -came, in time, to treat it as a joke. Nevertheless, they were always -on hand to help with the pile-driving. They were an old-fashioned, -simple-hearted people, content with following the teachings of their -good Book--"Cast thy bread upon the waters, for thou shalt find it -after many days." - -And find it they did, ultimately, in a mysterious and unexpected way. -One late June morning each of the farmers who had for season after -season toiled with those fishermen without faintest hope of earthly -reward awoke to find a mess of fresh lake fish hanging just outside -their respective doors. It was a great and wonderful revelation. -The circuit minister, Rev. Mr. Reddick, whose love for and trust in -his fellow-men was all-embracing, wept when the intelligence was -imparted to him, and took for his text on the Sunday following a -passage of scripture dealing with the true reward of unselfish -serving. It was a stirring sermon, the rebuke of a father to his -children who had erred. - -"Oh ye of little faith," he concluded, "let this be a lesson to you; -and those of you, my brothers, whose judgment of humanity has been -warped through God-given prosperity, get down on your knees and pray -humbly for light, remembering that _Christ believed in His -fishermen_." - -At the conclusion of the service, Deacon Ringold called a few of the -leading church members together and to them spoke his mind thus: - -"Brothers, you heard what our minister said, an' he's right. I, fer -one, am ashamed of the thoughts I've thought to'rds them fishermen of -Sandtown. I've acted mean to 'em in lots of ways, I'll admit. An' -so have you--you can't deny it!" - -The deacon, a florid, full-whiskered man of about sixty, glowered -about him. No one present thought of disputing his assertion. The -deacon was a power in the community. - -"I tell you, brothers," he continued, waxing eloquent, "the old devil -is pretty smooth and he'll get inside the guard of Christianity every -time unless we keep him barred by acts of Christly example. I have -been downright contemptuous to them poor sand folks; I have so! Time -and ag'in I've refused 'em even the apples rottin' on the ground in -my orchard. Now, I tell you what I'm goin' to do. I'm goin' to load -up my wagon with such fruit an' vegetables as they never get a smell -of, an' I'm goin' to drive down there and distribute it among 'em. I -ain't suggestin' that you men do likewise--that's between you and -your conscience--but," he added, glaring about him, "I'd like to know -if any of you has any suggestions to make." - -A tall, sad-visaged man rose slowly from his seat and took a few -steps up the aisle. Like the others he was full bearded; like them -his hands bore the calluses of honest toil. - -"Fisherman Shipley wanted to buy a cow from me on time," he said. "I -refused him. If you don't mind, Deacon, I'll lead her down behind -your wagon tomorrow." - -Ringold nodded approval. "All right, Neighbor Watland. Anybody else -got anythin' to say?" - -A short, heavy set man stirred in his seat, and spoke without rising. -"I'm only a poor workin'-man, without anythin' to give but the -strength of my arm, but I'm willin' to go down and help them -fishermen build their smoke-houses. I'm a pretty good carpenter, as -you men know." - -"That you are, Jim," agreed the deacon heartily. "We'll tell 'em -that Jim Glover'll be down to give 'em a hand soon." - -One by one others got up and made their little offers. Cobin Keeler, -a giant in stature, combed his flowing beard with his fingers and -announced he'd bring along a load of green corn-fodder. Gamp Stevens -promised three bags of potatoes. Joe Scraff, a little man with a -thin voice, said he had some lumber that the fishermen might as well -be using for their smoke-houses. Each of the others present offered -to do his part, and then the men separated for their several homes. - -"Understand, brothers," the deacon admonished as they parted, "we -must be careful not to let them poor, ignorant people think we're -doin' this little act of Christianity because they've seen fit to -fulfill their promise to us regardin' fish. That would spoil the -spirit of our givin'. Let not one man among us so much as mention -fish. Brotherly kindness, Christian example. That's our motto, -brothers, and we'll foller it." - -"You're right, Deacon," spoke Cobin Keeler. - -"He's always right," commented Scraff, who owed the deacon a couple -of hundred dollars. "An'," he added, "while we're hangin' strictly -to Bible teachin', might it not be a good idea fer us not to let our -left hand know what our right hand's doin'?" - -"Meanin' outsiders?" questioned Keeler. - -"Outsiders and insiders as well; our wives fer instance." Scraff had -a mental vision of a certain woman objecting strenuously to the part -he hoped personally to play in the giving. - -"Humph," said the deacon, "Joe Scraff may be right at that. Maybe it -would be just as well if we kept our own counsel in this matter, -brothers. Tomorrow mornin', early, let each of us prepare his -offerin' and depart fer the lake. We'll meet there and make what -distribution of our gifts as seems fair to them cheats--I mean them -poor misguided fishermen," he corrected hurriedly. - -And so they parted with this understanding. And when their footsteps -had died away, a small, dusty boy crawled out from under the penitent -bench, slipped like a shadow to a window, opened it and dropped -outside. - -By mid-afternoon Billy Wilson's boon companions had learned from him -that a good-will offering was to be made the fishermen of Sandtown by -the people of Scotia. It was a terrible disgrace--a dangerous state -of affairs. The hated Sand-sharkers merited nothing and should -receive nothing, if Billy and his friends could help it. Immediate -action was necessary if the plan of the farmers was to be frustrated -and the outlaw fishermen kept in their proper place. So Billy and -his friends held a little caucus in the beach grove behind the -school-house. For two hours they talked together in low tones. Then -Billy arose and crept stealthily away through the trees. The others -silently separated. - -* * * * * - -Sunset was streaking the pine tops with spun gold and edging the -gorgeous fabric with crimson ribbons; the big lake lay like an opal -set in coral. Fishermen Shipley and Sward, seated on the bow of -their old fish-boat, were idly watching the scene when Billy Wilson -approached, hands in pockets and gravely surveyed them. - -Shipley was a small, wizened man with scant beard and hair. He -wheezed a "Hello, Sonny" at Billy, while he packed the tobacco home -in his short, black pipe with a claw-like finger. - -His companion, a tall, thin man, grinned, but said nothing. His red -hair was long and straggly; splashes of coal-tar besmeared him from -the neckband of his greasy shirt to the bottoms of his much-patched -overalls. - -"What dye you want, boy?" Shipley's pipe was alight now and he -peered down at Billy through the pungent smoke-wreaths. - -"I was sent down here to give you a message, Mr. Shipley," said Billy. - -"Well, what is it, then? Who sent you? Come now, out with it quick, -or I'll take a tarred rope-end to you." - -"It was Deacon Ringold sent me," Billy answered. "He told me to tell -you that he's got to turn his pigs into the orchard tomorrow an' that -you an' the other people here might as well come an' gather up the -apples on the ground if you want 'em." - -"What!" Shipley and Sward started so forcibly that their heads came -together with a bump. "So the old skinflint is goin' to give us his -down apples, is he?" wheezed Shipley. "Well, he ain't givin' much, -but we'll come over tonight and get 'em. It's a wonder the old -hypocrite would let us gather 'em on Sunday night, ain't it, -Benjamin?" he addressed his companion. - -"He's afeerd they'll make his hogs sick most like," sneered Sward. - -"He says, if you don't mind, to come about ten or 'leven o'clock," -said Billy. - -Shipley threw back his head and chuckled a wheezing laugh. -"Loramity! Benjamin," he choked, "can't you get his reason fer that? -He wants to make sure that all the prayer-meetin' folks will be gone -home. It wouldn't do fer 'em to see us helpin' keep the deacon's -pigs from cholery. Ain't that like the smooth old weasel, though?" - -"What'll I tell Mr. Ringold?" asked Billy as he turned to go. - -"You might tell him that he's an angel if you wanter lie to him," -returned Shipley, "or that he's a canny old skin-flint, if you wanter -tell him the truth. I reckon, though, sonny, you best tell him that -we'll be along 'tween ten and leven. - -"That's a nice lookin' youngster," remarked Sward, as Billy was lost -among the pines. "Notice the big eyes of him, Jack?" - -"Yes. Oh, I daresay the boy's all right, Benjamin, but he belongs to -them Scotians and they're no friends of ourn. I reckon I scared him -some when I threatened to give him the rope, eh?" - -"Well, he wasn't givin' no signs that you did," Sward returned, "he -seemed to me to be tryin' his best to keep from laughin' in your -face." - -"By thunder! did he now?" - -"Fact, Jack. Seems to me them young Scotians don't scare very easy. -However," sliding off the boat, "that ain't gettin' ready for the -apple gatherin'. Let's go and mosey up some sacks and get the others -in line." - -Shipley laid a claw-like hand on his friend's arm and turned his -rheumy eyes on Sward's blinking blue ones. "Benjamin, we're goin' -after the deacon's apples, _but we ain't goin' to take no windfalls_." - -"You mean we'll strip the trees, Jack?" exulted Sward. - -"Exactly. And, Benjamin, kin you imagine the old deacon's face in -the mornin' when he sees what we've done?" And the two cronies went -off laughing over their prospective raid. - -* * * * * - -Sunday-night prayer meeting was just over. The worshippers had gone -from the church in twos and threes. Deacon Ringold had remained -behind to extinguish the church lights and lock up. As he stepped -from the porch into the shadows along the path, a small hand gripped -his arm. - -"Hello!" exclaimed the startled deacon. "Why, bless us, it's a boy! -Who are you, and what do you want?" - -Apparently the boy did not hear the first question. "Mr. Ringold," -he whispered, "I waited here to see you. The Sandtown fishermen are -comin' to rob your orchard tonight." - -"What?" The deacon gripped the boy's arm and shook him. "What's -that you say?" he questioned eagerly. - -"I was down to the lake this evenin'," said the boy, "an' I heard -Shipley and Sward talkin' together. They was plannin' a raid on your -orchard tonight." - -Mr. Ringold fairly gasped. "Oh, the thankless, misguided wretches!" -he exclaimed. "And to think that we were foolish enough to feel that -we hadn't treated 'em with Christian kindness. Did you hear 'em say -what time they was comin', boy?" - -"Yes sir. They said 'bout half-past ten." - -"Well, I'll be on hand to receive 'em," the deacon promised, "and if -I don't teach them thieves and rogues a lesson it'll be a joke on me. -Now I must run on and catch up with Cobin Keeler and the rest o' the -neighbors. They've got to know about this, so, if you'll jest tell -me your name--why, bless me, the boy's gone!" - -The deacon stood perplexedly scratching his head. Then he started -forward on a run to tell those who had planned with him a little -surprise gift for the fishermen of the perfidy of human nature. - -That night the fishermen of Sandtown were caught red-handed, stealing -Deacon Ringold's harvest apples. Like hungry ants scenting sugar -they descended upon that orchard, en masse, at exactly ten-thirty -o'clock. By ten-forty they had done more damage to the hanging fruit -than a wind storm could do in an hour and at ten-forty-five they were -pounced upon by the angry deacon and his neighbors and given the -lecture of their lives. In vain they pleaded that it was all a -mistake, that they had been sent an invitation via a small boy, from -the deacon himself. - -Ringold simply growled "lying ingrates," and bade them begone and -never again to so much as dare lay a boot-sole on his or his -neighbors' property. And so they went, and with them went all hope -of a possible drawing together in Christian brotherhood of the two -factions. - -"Brothers," spoke the deacon sadly, as he and his neighbors were -about to separate, "I doubt if we have displayed the proper Christian -spirit, but even a Christian must protect his property. Oh, why -didn't some small voice whisper to them poor misguided people and -warn 'em to be patient and all would be well." - -"It means, o' course, that we'll get no more fish," spoke up the -practical Scraff. - -"Oh yes you will," spoke a voice, seemingly above their heads. - -"Oh yes you will," echoed another voice on the left, and on the right -still another voice chanted. "You will, you will." - -"Mercies on us!" cried the amazed deacon, clutching the fence for -support. "Whose voice was that? You heard it, men. Whose was it?" - -The others stood, awed, frightened. - -"There was three voices," whispered Scraff. "They seemed to be -scattered among the trees. It's black magic, that's what it is--or -old Scroggie's ghost," he finished with a shudder. - -"Joe, I'm ashamed of you," chided the white-faced deacon. "Come -along to my house, all of you, and I'll have wife make us a strong -cup of tea." - -They passed on, and then from the sable-hued cedars bordering the -orchard four small figures stole and moved softly away. - -Once safely out on the road they paused to look back. - -"Boys," whispered Billy, "she worked fine. Them Sand-sharkers are -goin' to stay where they belong. An', fellers, seein' as we've -promised fish, fish it's gotta be." And so was formed the Scotia -Fish Supply Company. - -Four shadowy forms drifted apart and were lost in deeper shadows. -The golden moon rode peacefully in the summer sky. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -APPRAISING THE NEW TEACHER - -The morning wood-mists were warm, sweet-scented; the wood-birds' song -of thanksgiving was glad with the essence of God-given life. But the -man astride the dejected and weary horse saw none of the beauties of -his surroundings, heard none of the harmony, experienced none of the -exhilaration of the life all about him, as he rode slowly down the -winding trail between the trees. He sat erect in his saddle, eyes -fixed straight before him. His face was strong and seamed with tiny -lines. The prominence of his features was accentuated by the -thinness of the face. Beady black eyes burned beneath the shadows of -heavy brows. A shock of iron-grey hair brushed his shoulders. In -one hand he held a leather-bound book, a long thumb fixed on the -printed page from which his attention had been momentarily diverted -by his survey of the woodland scene. - -"Desolation!" he murmured, "desolation! the natural home of -ignorance." - -At the sound of his voice the old horse stood still. "Thomas," cried -the rider sternly, "did I command you to halt?" - -From his leather boot-leg he extracted a long wand of seasoned -hickory and brought it down on the bay flank with a cutting swish. -The hickory represented the symbol of progress to Mr. George G. -Johnston, the new teacher of Scotia school. Certain it was it had -the desired effect in this particular instance. The aged horse broke -into a jerky gallop which soon carried the rider out into more open -country. - -Here farms, hemmed in by rude rail-fences, looked up from valley and -hillside. Occasionally a house of greater pretensions than its -fellows, and built of unplaned lumber, gleamed in the morning -sunlight in gay contrast to the dun-colored log ones. But the -eternal forest, the primitive offering of earth's first substance, -obtruded even here, and the rider's face set in a frown as he -surveyed the vista before him. - -Descending into a valley he saw that the farm homes, which from the -height seemed closely set together, were really quite a distance from -each other. He reined up before a small frame house and, -dismounting, allowed his hungry horse to crop the grass, as he opened -the gate and made up the path. A shaggie collie bounded around the -corner of the building and down to meet him, bristles erect and all -the antagonism of a bush-dog for a stranger in its bearing. It was -followed by a big man and a boy. - -"Here you, Joe, come back here and behave yourself," the master -thundered and the dog turned and slunk back along the path. - -"Mornin', sir," greeted Cobin Keeler. - -In one hand he carried a huge butcher-knife, in the other a long -whetstone. More big knives glittered in the leather belt about his -waist. "Jest sharpenin' my knives ag'in the hog-killin'," he -explained, noting the stranger's startled look. - -The teacher advanced, his fears at rest. "My name is Johnston," he -said, "George G. Johnston. I was directed here, sir. You are Mr. -Keeler, are you not, one of the trustees of the school of which I am -to have charge?" - -Keeler thrust out a huge hand. "That's me," he answered. "You're -jest in time fer breakfast. It's nigh ready. Come 'round back an' -wash up. Maurice, go put the teacher's horse in the stable an' give -him a feed." - -The teacher followed his host, gingerly rubbing the knuckles which -had been left blue by the farmer's strong grip. - -The boy, who had been studying the man before him, turned away to -execute his father's order. If he knew anything about teachers--and -he did--he and the other lads of the community were in for a high old -time, he told himself. He went down to the gate, the dog trotting at -his heels. - -"Joe," he commanded, "go back home," and the collie lay down on the -path, head between his forepaws. - -The boy went out through the gate and approached the feeding horse -cautiously. His quick eyes appraised its lean sides and noted the -long welt made by the hickory on the clearly outlined ribs beneath -the bay hide. - -"Poor ol' beggar," he said gently. - -At the sound of his voice the horse lifted his head and gazed at the -boy in seeming surprise. A wisp of grass dangled from his mouth; his -ears pricked forward. Perhaps something in the boy's voice recalled -a voice he had known far back along his checkered life, when he was a -colt and a bare-legged youngster fed him sugar and rode astride his -back. - -"He ought'a get a taste o' the gad hisself," muttered Maurice. "An' -he's goin' to be our teacher, oh, Gash! Well, I kin see where me an' -Billy Wilson gets ourn--maybe." - -He patted the horse's thin neck. "Come, ol' feller, I'll stuff you -with good oats fer once," he promised. - -The horse reached forward his long muzzle and lipped one of the boy's -ears. "Say horses don't understand!" grinned Maurice. "Gee! I -guess maybe they do understand, though." - -He gave the horse another pat and led him down the path into the -stable. As he unsaddled him Maurice noticed the hickory wand which -Mr. Johnston had left inserted between the upper loops of a stirrup. - -"Hully gee! ol' feller, look!" Maurice extracted the wand and held -it up before the animal's gaze. "Oh, don't put your ears back an' -grin at me. I ain't goin' to use it on you," laughed the lad. -"Look! This is what I'm goin' to do with that ol' bruiser's -pointer." From a trouser's pocket he extracted a jackknife. "Now -horsie, jest you watch me close. The next time he makes a cut at you -he's goin' to get the surprise of his life. There, see? I've cut it -through. Now I'll jest rub on some of this here clay to hide the -cut. There you be! If I know anythin' 'bout seasoned hickory that -pointer's goin' to split into needles right in his hand. I hope they -go through his ol' fist and clinch on t'other side." - -Maurice gave the tired horse a feed of oats, tossed a bundle of -timothy into the manger, slapped the bay flank once again and went up -the path to his breakfast. - -Mrs. Keeler, a swarthy woman, almost as broad as she was tall, and -with an habitual cloud of gloom on her features, met him at the door. -She was very deaf and spoke in the loud, querulous tone so often used -by people suffering from that affliction. - -"Have you seen him?" she shouted. "What you think of him, Maurice?" - -Maurice drew her outside and closed the door. "Come over behind the -woodpile, Ma, an' I'll tell you," he answered cautiously. - -"No, tell me here." - -"Can't. He might hear me." - -"Then you ain't took to that new teacher, Maurice?" - -"Not what you'd notice, Ma. He ain't any like Mr. Stanhope. His -face--I ain't likin' it a bit. Besides, Ma, he flogs his poor horse -somethin' awful." - -"How do you know that?" asked the mother, eying him sharply. - -"Cause he left long welts on him. He's out in the stable. Go see -fer yourself." - -"No, I ain't got time. I got t' fry some more eggs an' ham. Go -'long in to your breakfast, an' see you keep your mouth shut durin' -the meal. An' look here," she admonished, "if I ketch you apullin' -the cat's tail durin' after-breakfast prayers I'll wollop you till -you can't stand." - -Maurice meekly followed his mother inside and slipped into his -accustomed place at the table. - -Mr. Johnston was certainly doing justice to the crisp ham and eggs on -the platter before him. Occasionally he lifted his black eyes to -flash a look at his host, who was entertaining him with the history -of the settlement and its people. - -"You'll find Deacon Ringold a man whose word is as good as his bond," -Cobin was saying. "I'm married to his sister, Hannah, but I ain't -sayin' this on that account. The deacon is a right good livin' man, -fond of his own opinions an' all that, an' close on a bargain, but a -good Christian man. He's better off than anybody else in these -parts. But what he got he got honest. I'll say that, even if he is -my own brother-in-law." - -"Yes, yes," spoke Mr. Johnston, impatiently. "No doubt I shall get -to know Mr. Ringold very well. Now, sir, concerning your other -neighbors?" Mr. Johnston held a dripping yolk of egg poised, peering -from beneath his brows at his host. - -"Well, there's the Proctors, five families of 'em an' every last one -of 'em a brother to the other." - -"Meaning, I presume, that there are five brothers by the name of -Proctor living in the community." - -"By Gosh, you've hit it right on the head. That's what eddication -does fer a man--makes him sharp as a razor. Yes, they're brothers -an' so much alike all I've got to do is describe one of 'em an' you -have 'em all." - -"Remarkable," murmured Mr. Johnston. "Remarkable, indeed!" - -"Did you say more tea, teacher?" Mrs. Keeler was at his elbow, -steaming tea-pot in hand. - -"Thank you, I will have another cup," Mr. Johnston answered, and -turned his eyes back to Cobin. - -"You have a neighbor named Stanhope, my predecessor, I understand," -he said slowly. - -"I'm proud to say we have, sir," beamed Keeler, "an' a squarer, finer -young man never lived. A mighty good teacher he was too, let me tell -you." - -"I have no doubt. I have heard sterling reports of him; if he erred -in his task it was because he was too lenient. Tell me, Mr. Keeler, -is there not some history attached to him concerning a will, or -property left by a man by the name of Scroggie? I'll admit I have no -motive in so questioning save that of curiosity, but one wishes to -know all one can learn about the man one is to follow. Is that not -so, ma'am?" he asked, turning to the watchful hostess. - -"More ham? Certainly." Mrs. Keeler came forward with a platter, -newly fried, and scraped two generous slices onto Mr. Johnston's -plate. "Now, sir, don't you be affeard to holler out when you want -more," said the hospitable housewife. - -"Ma's deefness makes her misunderstan' sometimes," Cobin explained in -an undertone to the teacher. "But I was jest about to tell you Mr. -Stanhope's strange history, sir, an' about ol' Scroggie's will. You -sse the Stanhopes was the very first to drop in here an' take up -land, father an' son named Frank, who wasn't much more'n a boy, but -with a mighty good eddication. - -"Roger Stanhope didn't live long but while he lived he was a right -good sort of man to foller an' before he died he had the satisfaction -of seein' the place in which he was one of the first to settle grow -up into a real neighborhood. Young Frank had growed into a big, -strappin' feller by this time an' took hold of the work his father -had begun, an' I must say he did marvels in the clearin' an' burnin'. - -"So things went along fer a few years. Then come a letter from -England to Roger Stanhope. Frank read it to me. Seems they wanted -Stanhope back home, if he was alive; if not they wanted his son to -come. Frank didn't even answer that letter. He says to me, 'Mr. -Keeler, this spot's good enough fer me.' An' by gosh! he stayed. - -"When this settlement growed big enough fer a school, young Frank, -who had a school teacher's di-ploma, offered to teach it. His farm -was pretty well cleared by this time, so he got a man named Henry -Burke to work it fer him an' Burke's wife to keep house. That was -five years ago, an' Frank has taught the Valley School ever since, -till now." - -Keeler paused, and sighed deeply. "'Course, sir, you've heerd what -happened an' how? He was tryin' to save some horses from a burnin' -stable. A blazin' beam fell across his face; his eyes they--" -Keeler's voice grew husky. - -"I've heard," said Mr. Johnston. "His was a brave and commendable -act." - -"But he did a braver thing than that," cried Cobin. "He giv' up the -girl who was to marry him, 'cause, he said, his days from now on must -be useless ones, an' he wouldn't bind the woman he loved to his -bleakness an' blackness. Them was his very words, sir." - -To this Mr. Johnston made no audible reply. He simply nodded, -waiting with suspended fork, for his narrator to resume. - -"Concerning the purported will of the eccentric Mr. Scroggie?" he -ventured at length, his host having lapsed into silence. - -Keeler roused himself from his abstraction and resumed: "Right next -to the Stanhope farm there stood about a thousand acres of the -purtiest hardwoods you ever clap't an eye on, sir. An ol' hermit of -a drunken Scotchman, Scroggie by name, owned that land. He lived in -a dirty little cabin an' was so mean even the mice was scared to eat -the food he scrimped himself on. He had money too, lots an' lots of -gold money. I've seen it myself. He kept it hid somewhere. - -"When the Stanhopes built their home on the farm, which was then -mostly woods, old Scroggie behaved somethin' awful. He threatened to -shoot Stanhope. But Stanhope only laughed an' went on with his -cuttin' an' stump-pullin'. Scroggie used to swear he'd murder both -of 'em, an' he was always sayin' that if he died his ghost would come -back an' ha'nt the Stanhopes. Yes, he said that once in my own -hearin'. - -"One night, two years after Roger Stanhope died, old Scroggie got -drunk an' would have froze to death if Frank hadn't found him an' -carried him into his own home. Scroggie cursed Frank fer it when he -came round but Frank paid no attention to him. After that, -Scroggie--who was too sick to be moved--got to takin' long spells of -quiet. He would jest set still an' watch Frank nights when the two -was alone together. - -"After a while the old man got strong enough to go home. Soon after -that he disappeared an' stayed away fer nearly three weeks. Then, -all at once, he turned up at home ag'in. He came over to Stanhope's -house every now an' ag'in to visit with him. One night he says to -Frank after they had had supper: 'Frank,' says he, 'I've been over to -Cleveland an' I've made my will. I've left you everythin' I own. -You're the only decent person I've known since I lost my ol' mother. -I want that thousand acre woods to stand jest as God made it as long -as I'm alive; when I die you kin do what you like with it.' Then -afore Frank could even thank him the old man got up an' hobbled out. - -"Next mornin'," continued Cobin, "Frank went over to see old -Scroggie. He wanted to hear him say what he told him the night -afore, ag'in. It was gettin' along towards spring; the day was warm -an' smelled of maple sap. Scroggie's cabin door was standin' ajar, -Frank says. The ol' man was sittin' in his chair, a Bible upside -down on his knees. He was dead! - -"Frank told Mr. Reddick, the preacher who came to bury old Scroggie, -all that had passed between him an' the dead man but although they -hunted high an' low fer the will, they never found it. Nor did they -find any of the money the ol' miser must have left behind--not a -solitary cent. That was over a year ago, an' they haven't found -money or will yet. But this goes to show what a real feller Frank -Stanhope is. He put a fine grave stone up for ol' Scroggie an' had -his name engraved on it. Yes he done that, an' all he ever got from -the dead man was his curses. - -"Well, soon after they put old Scroggie under the sod, along comes a -nephew of the dead man. No doubt in the world he was Scroggie's -nephew. He looked like him, an' besides he had the papers to prove -his claim that he was the dead man's only livin' relative. An' as -Scroggie hadn't left no will, this man was rightful heir to what he -had left behin', 'cordin' to law. He spent a week er two prowlin' -round, huntin' fer the dead man's buried money. At last he got -disgusted huntin' an' findin' nuthin' an' went away." - -"And he left no address behind?" questioned Mr. Johnston. - -"He surely did not," answered Cobin. "Nobody knows where he -went--nor cares. But nobody can do anythin' with that timber without -his sayso. It's a year or more since ol' Scroggie died. People do -say that his ghost floats about the old cabin, at nights, but of -course that can't be, sir." - -"Superstitious nonsense," scoffed the teacher. "And so the will was -never found?" - -"No, er the buried money," sighed Cobin. - -Mr. Johnston pushed his chair back from the table. "Thank you -exceedingly, Mr. Keeler. I have enjoyed your breakfast and your -conversation very much indeed. Madam," he said, rising and turning -to Mrs. Keeler, "permit me to extend to you my heartfelt gratitude -for your share in the splendid hospitality that has been accorded me. -I hope to see you again, some day." - -"Certainly," returned Mrs. Keeler, "Cobin! Maurice! kneel down -beside your chairs. The teacher wants to pray." - -Mr. Johnston frowned, then observing his host and hostess fall to -their knees, he too got stiffly down beside his chair. He prayed -long and fervently and ended by asking God to help him lead these -people from the shadow into enlightenment. - -It was during that prayer that Maurice, chancing to glance at the -window, saw Billy Wilson's pet crow, Croaker, peering in at him with -black eyes. Now, as Croaker often acted as carrier between the boys, -his presence meant only one thing--Billy had sent him some message. -Cautiously Maurice got down on all fours and crept toward the door. - -"Now teacher," said Keeler, the prayer over, "you jest set still, an' -I'll send Maurice out after your horse." - -He glanced around in search of the boy. "Why, bless my soul, he's -gone!" he exclaimed. "There's a youngster you'll need to watch -close, teacher," he said grimly. - -"Well sir, you jest rest easy an' I'll get your horse myself." - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -THE MESSAGE CROAKER BROUGHT - -"Missus Wilson, where's Billy?" - -Mrs. Wilson turned to the door, wiped her red face on her apron, and -finished emptying a pan of hot cookies into the stone crock, before -answering, sternly: - -"He's down to the far medder, watchin' the gap, Maurice. Don't you -go near him." - -"No ma'am, I won't. Jest wondered where he was, that's all." - -"I 'low you're tryin' to coax him away fishin' er somethin'." - -"Oh, no ma'am. I gotta get right back home to Ma. She's not very -well, an' she'll be needin' me." - -"Fer land sakes! you don't say so, Maurice. Is she very bad?" The -tones were sympathetic now. Maurice nodded, and glanced longingly at -the fresh batch of brown cookies. - -"She was carryin' the big meat-platter on her arm an' she fell with -her arm under her--an' broke it." - -"Lord love us!" Mrs. Wilson started to undo her apron. "Why didn't -you tell me before, you freckle-faced jackass, you! Lord knows what -use you boys are anyways! Think of you, hangin' 'round here askin' -fer Billy and your poor Ma at home groanin' in pain an' needin' help. -Ain't you 'shamed of yourself?" - -"Yes ma'am," admitted Maurice cheerfully. "I guess I should'a told -you first off but Ma she said if you was busy not to say anythin' -'bout her breakin' it." - -"Well, we'll see about that. No neighbor in this here settlement is -ever goin' to say that Mary Wilson ever turned her back on a -feller-bein's distress. I'll go right over to your place with you -now, Maurice. Come along." - -Mrs. Wilson was outside, by this time, and tying on her sun-bonnet. -Maurice held back. She grasped his arm and hustled him down the walk. - -"Is it broke bad, Maurice?" she asked anxiously. - -Maurice, peering about among the trees, answered absently. - -"Yes ma'am. I guess she'll never be able to use it ag'in." - -"Oh pity sake! Let's hurry." - -Maurice was compelled to quicken his steps in order to keep up to the -long strides of the anxious woman. Suddenly he halted. "Missis -Wilson," he said, "you fergot to take that last pan o' cookies out'a -the oven." - -The woman raised her hands in consternation. - -"So I did," she exclaimed. "You stay right here an' I'll go back and -take it out now." - -"Let me go," said Maurice quickly. "I know jest how to do it an' kin -get through in less'n half the time it'll take you." - -"Well, run along then. I best keep right on. Your poor Ma'll be -needin' me." - -Maurice was off like a shot. As he rounded the house on a lope he -ran into Billy, coming from the opposite direction. Billy's cotton -blouse was bulging. In one hand he carried the smoking bake-pan, in -the other a fat cookie deeply scalloped on one side. - -"Where you goin' so fast, Maurice?" he accosted, his mouth full. - -Maurice glanced fearfully over his shoulder. "Hush, Bill. If your -Ma happens to come back here it'll go bad with me." - -Billy held out the pan to his chum and waited until Maurice had -filled his pockets. Then he asked: "Where's she gone?" - -"Over to our place. I told her about Ma fallin' an' breakin' the -meat-platter, an' I guess she misunderstood. She tried to take me -along with her. I had an awful time to get 'way from her." - -Billy laughed. "Gee! Ma's like that. Nobody gets 'way from her -very easy. Here, fill your shirt with the rest o' these cookies, an -I'll take the pan back; then we'll be goin'." - -"Fish ought'a bite fine today," said Maurice as he stowed the cookies -away in his bosom. - -"You bet. The wind's south. Have you got the worms dug?" - -"Yep. They're in a can in my pocket. Did Croaker come back?" he -inquired, as the two made their way down the path. - -"Sure he came back. He's a wise crow, that Croaker, an', Oh gosh! -don't he hate Ma, though! He gets up in a tree out o' reach of her -broom, an' jest don't he call her names in crow talk? Ma says she'll -kill him if ever she gets close enough to him an' she will, too." - -"Well sir, I nigh died when I seen him settin' on our winder-sill," -laughed Maurice. "We was havin' mornin' prayer; the new teacher was -at our place an' he was prayin'. Croaker strutted up an' down the -sill, peerin' in an' openin' an' shuttin' his mouth like he was -callin' that old hawk-faced teacher every name he could think of. I -saw he had a paper tied 'round his neck so I crawled on my hands an' -knees past Ma, an' slipped out. If Ma hadn't been so deef, she'd -have heard me an' nabbed me sure." - -Billy chuckled. "Then you got my message off of Croaker, Maurice?" - -"Yep; but by jinks! I had a awful time guessin' what you meant by -them marks you made on the paper. Darn it all, Bill, why can't you -write what you want'a say, instead of makin' marks that nobody kin -understan'?" - -"There you go, ag'in," cried Billy. "How many times have I gotta -tell you, Maurice, that Trigger Finger Tim never used writin'. He -used symbols--that's what he used. Do you know what a symbol is, you -poor blockhead?" - -[Illustration: Bill's message] - -"I should say I do. It's a brass cap what women use to keep the -needle from runnin' under their finger-nail." - -"Naw, Maurice. A symbol is a mark what means somethin'. Have you -got that message I sent you? Well, give it here an' I'll show you. -Now then, you see them two marks standin' up 'longside each other?" - -"Yep." - -"Well, what do you think they stand fer?" - -"I thought maybe you meant 'em fer a couple of trees, Bill." - -"Well I didn't. Them two marks are symbols, signifyin' a gap." - -"A gap? Hully Gee!" - -"Yep, an' this here animal settin' in that gap, what you think it is?" - -Maurice shook his head. "It's maybe a cow!" he guessed hopefully. - -"Nope, it's a dog. Now then, you see these two boys runnin' away -from the gap?" - -"Gosh, is that what they be, Bill? Yep, I see 'em." - -"Well, that's me an' you. Now then, what you s'pose I meant by them -symbols? I meant this. _I've gotta watch gap. Fetch your dog over -an' we'll set him to watch it, an' we'll skin out an' go fishin'._" - -Maurice whistled. "Well I'll be jiggered!" he exclaimed. "I wish't -I'd knowed that. Say, tell you what I'll do. I'll sneak up through -the woods an' whistle Joe over here now." - -"No, never mind. I bribed Anse to watch that gap fer me." - -"What did you have t' give him?" - -"Nuthin'. Promised I wouldn't tell him no ghost stories fer a week -if he'd help me out." - -They had topped a wooded hill and were descending into a wide green -valley, studded with clumps of red willows and sloping towards a -winding stretch of pale green rushes through which the white face of -the creek flashed as though in a smile of welcome. Red winged -blackbirds clarioned shrilly from rush and cat-tail. A brown bittern -rose solemnly and made across the marsh in ungainly flight. A blue -crane, frogging in the shallows, paused in its task with long neck -stretched, then got slowly to wing, long pipe-stem legs thrust -straight out behind. A pair of nesting black ducks arose with soft -quacks and drifted up and out, bayward. - -Billy, who stood still to watch them, was recalled suddenly to earth -by his companion's voice. - -"Bill, our punt's gone!" - -With a bound, Billy was beside him, and peering through the rushes -into the tiny bay in which they kept their boat. - -"Well, Gee whitticker!" he exclaimed. "Who do you s'pose had the -nerve to take it?" - -Maurice shook his head. "None of our gang 'ud take it," he said. -"Likely some of them Sand-sharks." - -"That's so," Billy broke off a marsh-flag and champed it in his teeth. - -Maurice was climbing a tall poplar standing on the bank of the creek. -"I say, Billy," he cried excitedly. "There she is, jest 'round the -bend. They've beached her in that piece of woods. It's Joe LaRose -an' Art Shipley that took her, I'll bet a cookie. They're always -goin' 'cross there to hunt fer turtle's eggs." - -"Then come on!" shouted Billy. - -"Where to?" - -"Down opposite the punt. I'm goin' t' strip an' swim across after -her." - -Maurice dropped like a squirrel from the poplar. "An' leave them -boat thieves stranded?" he panted. "Oh gosh! but won't that serve -'em right!" - -"Let's hustle," urged Billy. "They may come back any minute." - -They ran quickly up the valley, Billy unfastening his few garments as -they ran. By the time Billy had reached the bend he was in readiness -for the swim across. Without a thought of the long -leeches--"blood-suckers" the boys called them--which lay on the oozy -bottom of the creek's shallows ready to fasten on the first bare foot -that came their way, he waded out toward the channel. - -"Bill, watch out!" warned Maurice. "There's a big womper coiled on -that lily-root. You're makin' right fer it." - -"I see it," returned Billy. "I guess I ain't scared of no snakes in -these parts." - -"But this beggar is coiled," cried his friend. "If he strikes you, -he'll rip you wide open with his horny nose. Don't go, Bill." - -"Bah! he's uncoilin', Maurice; he'll slip off, see if he don't. -There, what did I tell you?" as the long mottled snake slid softly -into the water. "You can't tell me anythin' 'bout wompers." - -"But what if a snappin'-turtle should get hold of your toe?" -shuddered Maurice. - -"Shut up!" Billy commanded. "Do you want them Sand-sharks to hear -you? You keep still now, I'm goin' after our punt." - -Billy was out in mid stream now, swimming with swift, noiseless -strokes toward the boat. Just as he reached it the willows along -shore parted and two boys, both larger than himself, made a leap for -the punt. Billy threw himself into the boat and as the taller of the -two jumped for it his fist shot out and caught him fairly on the jaw. -He toppled back half into the water. Billy seized the paddle and -swung it back over his shoulder. The other boy halted in his tracks. -Another moment and the punt was floating out in midstream. - -LaRose had crawled to shore and sat dripping and sniffling on the -bank. - -"Now, maybe the next time you boat-thieves find a punt you'll think -twice afore you take it," shouted Billy. - -"How're we goin' to get back 'cross the crick?" whined the vanquished -LaRose. - -"Swim it, same's I did," Billy called back. - -"But the snakes an' turtles!" wailed the marooned pair. - -"You gotta take a chance. I took one." Billy urged the punt forward -across the creek to where the grinning and highly delighted Maurice -waited. - -"Jump in here, an' let's get fishin'." - -Maurice lost no time. "Where'll we go, Bill?" - -"Up to the mouth. There's green bass up there an' lots of small -frogs, if we need 'em, fer bait." - - - - -CHAPTER V - -A WILDERNESS MERCHANT - -Caleb Spencer, proprietor of the Twin Oaks store, paused at his -garden gate to light his corncob pipe. The next three hours would be -his busy time. The farmers of Scotia would come driving in for their -mail and to make necessary purchases of his wares. His pipe alight -to his satisfaction, Caleb crossed the road, then stood still in his -tracks to fasten his admiring gaze on the rambling, unpainted -building which was his pride and joy. He had built that store -himself. With indefatigable pains and patience he had fashioned it -to suit his mind. Every evening, just at this after-supper hour, he -stood still for a time to admire it, as he was doing now. - -Having quaffed his customary draught of delight from the picture -before him Caleb resumed his walk to the store, pausing at its door -to straighten into place the long bench kept there for the -accommodation of visiting customers. As he swung the bench against -the wall he bent and peered closely at two sets of newly-carved -initials on its smooth surface. - -"W.W." he read, and frowned. "By ding! That's that Billy Wilson. -Now let's see, 'A.S.' I wonder who them initials stand fer?" With a -shake of his grizzled mop he entered the store. - -A slim girl in a gingham dress stood in front of the counter placing -parcels in a basket. She turned a flushed face, lit with brown -roguish eyes, on Caleb, as he came in. - -"Had your supper, Pa?" she asked. - -"Yep." Caleb bent and scrutinized the basket. - -"Whose parcels are them, Ann?" he questioned. - -"Mrs. Keeler's," his daughter answered. "Billy Wilson left the -order." - -"Hump, he did, eh? Well, let's see the slip." He took the piece of -paper from the counter and read: - - One box fruit-crackers. - 10 pounds granulated sugar. - Two pounds cheese. - 1 pound raisins. - 1 pound lemon peel. - 4 cans salmon. - 50 sticks hoarhound candy. - - -There were other items but Caleb read no further. He stood back -sucking the stem of his pipe thoughtfully. "Whereabouts did that -Billy go, Ann?" he asked at length. - -"Why, he didn't go. He's in the liquor-shop settin' a trap for that -rat, Pa." - -"Oh he is, eh? Well, tell him to come out here; I want to see him." - -Caleb waited until his daughter turned to execute his order, then the -frown melted from his face and a wide grin took its place. "The -young reprobate," he muttered. "What'll that boy be up to next, I -wonder? I've got t' teach him a lesson, ding me! if I haven't. It's -clear enough t' me that him and that young Keeler are shapin' fer a -little excursion, up bush, and this is the way they take to get their -fodder." - -He turned slowly as his daughter and Billy entered from the rear of -the shop and let his eyes rest on the boy's face. "How are you, -Billy?" he asked genially. - -"I'm well, thanks," and Billy gazed innocently back into Caleb's -eyes. "I hope your rheumatiz is better, Mr. Spencer." - -"It is," said Caleb shortly, "and my eyes are gettin' sharper every -day, Billy." - -"That's good," said Billy and bent to pick up the basket. - -"Jest a minute, young man." Caleb's voice was stern. "I see you've -cut your own and your best gal's initials onto my new bench. Did you -have much trouble doin' it, might I ask?" - -Billy stood up, a grin on his face. "That pine bench looked so -invitin' I jest couldn't help tryin' my new knife on it," he -explained. "But I didn't s'pose fer a minute that you'd mind." - -"Well, by ding! I don't know but what I _do_ mind. What if you -should take a notion, some day, to carve up the side of this -buildin', hey?" - -Billy grew thoughtful. "I hadn't thought o' that," he said slowly. -"It's pine, too, ain't it? It 'ud carve fine." - -Caleb turned quickly towards a pile of goods, behind which an audible -titter had sounded. - -"Ann," he commanded, "you run along and get your supper." - -He waited until his daughter had closed the door behind her. "Now -Billy," he said, sternly, "understan' me when I say that if you ever -so much as lay a knife-blade onto the walls of this here store I'll -jest naturally pinch the freckles off'n your nose, one by one. Hear -that?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"Well, heed it, and heed it close. I'll overlook the cuttin' of my -new bench, but, by ding! I'd ruther you'd carve me than carve this -store." He paused abruptly and bent on Billy a quizzical look. -"Whose 'nitials are them under yourn?" he asked. - -Billy started. "Oh gosh! I dunno, Mr. Spencer; I jest cut the first -ones come into my head." - -"Umph! I'm not so green as I look. I know whose they be. They're -Ann's." - -Billy was silent. Should he tell the truth and say that he had -carved Ann's initials on the bench and those of Walter Watland -beneath them at that young lady's pleading request? No! - -"Well?" Caleb asked finally. "What about it?" - -Billy drew himself up and lied like a gentleman. "I guess that's all -there is about it," he said with dignity. "Ann's my girl, an' she -said I could cut my 'nitials under hers if I wanted to take the -chance." - -"Oh, so she's your gal, is she?" Caleb thrust his hands deep into -his pockets, striving hard to keep his face stern. "How long you and -Ann been sweetheartin'?" he asked. - -"Five er six years; maybe longer." - -"Loramighty!" Caleb sank weakly on a pile of horse-blankets, and -gasped. "But, Billy, she's only twelve now, and you--you can't be -much more'n fourteen at most." - -"I'm growin' fifteen," said Billy gravely. "Me an' Ann's been goin' -together fer quite a long spell." - -Caleb placed his empty pipe in one pocket, fished in another and drew -out a plug of Radiant Star chewing tobacco. He took a generous bite -from one corner of the plug and champed it meditatively. - -"Well, Billy," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "seein's we're to -be right close related, some day, I guess it's up to me to give you -your supper. You go right along over to the house and eat with Ann." - -"But I'm not hungry, Mr. Spencer," said Billy quickly. - -"That don't make no difference; you go along. I see Ann's made a -mistake in doin' up Mrs. Keeler's parcels. You can't go back for a -bit, anyways, so you might as well have your supper." - -Billy went out and Spencer watched him cross the road and enter the -cottage. "Well, now," he chuckled, "ain't that boy a tartar? But," -he added, "he's got to be slicker than he is to fool old Caleb. Now, -you jest watch me." - -He lifted the basket to the counter and, taking the parcels from it, -carefully emptied their contents back into the drawers from which -they had been filled. Then from beneath the counter he drew out a -box and with exquisite pains filled each of the empty bags and the -cracker-box with sawdust. He tied the bags, packed them in the -basket, tucked a roll of tea lead in the bottom, to give the basket -weight, and placed it on the counter. Then he went outside to sit on -the bench and await Billy's return. - -Caleb had come to Scotia Settlement when it was little more than a -bald spot on the pate of the hardwoods. Gypsy-like he had strayed -into the settlement and, to use his own vernacular, had pitched his -wigwam to stay. One month later a snug log cabin stood on the wooded -hillside overlooking the valley, and the sound of Caleb's axe could -be heard all day long, as he cleared a garden spot in the forest. -That forest ran almost to the white sands of Lake Erie, pausing a -quarter of a mile from its shore as though fearing to advance -further. On this narrow strip of land the pines and cedars had taken -their stand, as if in defiance of the more rugged trees of the -upland. They grew close together in thickets so dense that beneath -them, even on the brightest day, blue-white twilight rested always. -Running westward, these coniferous trees grew bolder and widened so -as to almost cover the broad finger-like point of land which -separated Rond Eau Bay from Lake Erie, and thither many of the wild -things crept, as civilization advanced to claim their old roaming -grounds. The point, known as Point Aux Pines, was ten miles long, -affording abundance of food and perfect shelter. - -But on the uplands the forests grew sparser as the axes of rugged -homesteaders, who had followed in the footsteps of Caleb Spencer, bit -home. Gradually farms were cleared, rough stumpy fields the tilling -of which tested the hearts of the strongest, but whose rich soil -gladdened even the most weary. A saw mill was erected on the banks -of a stream known as Levee Creek. Gradually the rough log cabins of -the settlers were torn down to be replaced by more modern houses of -lumber. - -And then Caleb Spencer had built his store and with far-seeing -judgment had stocked it with nearly every variety of goods a growing -community needs. Drygoods, Groceries, Hardware & Liquors! These -comprehensive words, painted on a huge sign, stared out at all who -passed along the road and in still more glaring letters beneath was -the announcement, "Caleb Spencer, Proprietor." - -Everybody liked Caleb. Even old man Scroggie had been fond of him, -which is saying a great deal. It was said the old miser even trusted -the gaunt storekeeper to a certain degree. At any rate it was -commonly known that shortly before he died Scroggie had given into -Spencer's keeping, to be locked away in his rusty old store safe, a -certain legal-looking document. Deacon Ringold and Cobin Keeler had -witnessed the transaction. Accordingly, after Scroggie was buried -and a search for the will failed to disclose it, it was perhaps -natural that a delegation of neighbors should wait on Caleb and -question him concerning the paper which the deceased man had given -him. To everybody's surprise Caleb had flared up and told the -delegation that the paper in question was the consummation of a -private matter between himself and the dead man, and that he didn't -have to show it and didn't intend to show it. - -Of course that settled it. The delegation apologized, and Caleb -tapped a keg of cider and opened a box of choice biscuits just to -show that there were no hard feelings. Now this in itself was surely -indisputable proof of the confidence his neighbors reposed in Caleb's -veracity and honesty, but considering the fact that Caleb had once -quarrelled with the elder Stanhope, later refusing all overtures of -friendship from the latter, and had even gone so far as to cherish -the same feeling of animosity toward the son, Frank, that trust was -little short of sublime. For, providing Caleb disliked Frank -Stanhope--and he did and made no attempt to hide it--what would be -more natural than that he should keep him from his rightful -inheritance if he could? - -But nobody mistrusted Caleb, Frank Stanhope least of all; and so, for -the time being, the incident of the legal document was forgotten. - -Tonight, as Caleb sat outside on the bench waiting for the first -evening customers to arrive, he reviewed the pleasant years of his -life in this restful spot and was satisfied. Suddenly he sat erect. -From the edge of a walnut grove on the far side of the road came a -low warble, sweet as the song of a wild bird, but with a minor note -of sadness in its lilting. - -"That's old Harry and his tin whistle," muttered Caleb, "Glory be! -but can't he jest make that thing sing?" - -Softly the last note died, and then the player emerged from the -grove. He was little and bent. He wore a ragged suit of corduroys -and a battered felt hat with a red feather stuck jauntily in its -band. His face was small, dark, and unshaven. In one grimy hand he -carried a small demijohn. Arriving opposite Caleb, he lifted his -battered hat and bowed low as a courtier would do. - -"Glory be! It's find ye alone I do," he spoke in rich Irish brogue. -"It's trill ye a chune I did from the copse, yonder, so's to soften -the hard heart of ye, Caleb. It's dhry I am as a last-year's chip, -an' me little jug do be pinin' fer a refillin'." - -Caleb's face grew stern. "I told you, Harry O'Dule, that I'd give -you no more liquor," he replied. - -"Faith, maybe ye did. But last night it's the skies thimselves said -'rain,' an' begorry! there's been not a sign av a shower t'day. What -matters ut fer the fallin' av an idle wurrud now and thin? It's -meself knows you're too tinder hearted t' refuse a small favor to a -body that feels only love an' respect fer yourself an' the swate ones -who wait ye in the flower-covered cottage, beyont." - -"Stop your blarney, Harry. I tell you I'll give you no more whisky, -and by ding! that goes!" - -"Thin I'll be trudgin' back along the way," said O'Dule, hopelessly. -"But afore I go, I'll be liltin' ye a small chune that'll mebee make -ye understand somethin' av a sadness yer generosity could lessen. -Listen thin!" - -He set the jug down, and from his bosom drew forth a tin whistle. -For a minute or two he played softly, his eyes on Caleb's. Then, -gradually, his eyes closed and a rapt expression settled upon his -grimy face as he led his listener down strange by-paths of fancy. - -Suddenly, Caleb jumped from the bench. "Stop, Harry O'Dule!" he -entreated. "That whistle of yours would soften the heart of old Nick -himself. Do you want to set me crazy, man? Come, give me your jug, -I'll fill it this time. But remember, never ag'in. I mean that, by -ding!" - -He snatched up the demijohn and went into the store. Old Harry sat -down on the bench and waited until he returned. - -"It's a good fri'nd ye've been t' me, Caleb," he said gratefully, as -he lifted the jug and held it between his knees. "It's do widout me -dhrink I cannot. Ut an' me whistle are me only gleams av sunlight in -the gloom. I'll be after takin' a little flash of the light now, if -ut's no objection ye have, for ut's long dhry I've been." He lifted -the jug and took a long draught of its fiery contents. - -"I'll be movin' now," he said, as he wiped his mouth on a tattered -sleeve. "God kape you safe, Caleb Spencer, an' may yer whisky-barrel -niver run dhry." - -And placing his battered hat jauntily on his scanty locks, Harry -picked up his jug and was lost amid the shadows. - -Presently Billy Wilson emerged from the cottage, received his basket -from Caleb, and trotted off toward the Keeler place. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE RUSE THAT FAILED - -Out behind the wood-shed Maurice Keeler, by the dim light of a smoky -lantern, was splitting kindling for the morning's fire when something -clammy and twisting dropped across the back of his neck. - -"Holy Smoke! Bill, take it away!" he yelled, as his chum's laugh -fell on his ears. - -"Gosh! you ain't got no nerve a'tall, Maurice! It's only a -milk-snake. I picked it up on my way home from the store. I'm goin' -to put it in the menagerie." - -Maurice sat down weakly on a block and wiped his face on his sleeve. - -"Hang it all, Bill!" he complained, "what do you see in snakes to -make you want'a handle 'em so? I'm scared to death of 'em; I own it." - -"I s'pose this feller an' ol' Spotba'll fight to a finish," said -Billy, "but I aim to keep one snake of each kind, so let 'em scrap it -out. It won't hurt that old womper to get a good drubbin' anyway." - -He held the newly captured snake along his arm, its head resting in -the palm of his hand. The dim light was sufficiently strong for -Maurice to note the cold gleam in its eyes, and he shuddered. "Some -day you'll try your monkey-shines on a puff-adder er a black-snake," -he prophesied, "an' then you'll wish you hadn't gone clean crazy." - -Billy grinned and dropped the snake into his jacket pocket. "I -brought your Ma's groceries," he said. "Is she in the house?" - -"Yep; she's cannin' thimble-berries. Jest wait till I get an armful -of kindlin', an' I'll go in with you." - -Billy put the basket down again. "Say, what did she want with all -that hoarhound candy?" he asked curiously. - -Maurice chuckled. "Why, Missis Spencer told her what great stuff it -was to use in doin' up thimble-berries; sorta takes the flat taste -off 'em. So Ma, she's goin' to try it." - -Billy whistled. "But fifty sticks, Maurice! It's almost more'n -she'll need, don't you think?" - -"'Course it's a lot too much. S'pose we try on' get hold of some of -it, Bill?" - -"Suits me," agreed Billy, "but jest how? That's the question." - -Maurice stooped and filled his arms with a load of kindling. "I -dunno how," he replied, "but you usually find out a way fer -everythin'. What's the matter with you lettin' on you lost part of -that candy?" - -Billy shook his head. "No good, she'd be onto us bigger'n a barn. -Tell you what we might do. We might take bad colds an' sorta work on -her sympathies." - -"Humph! an' be kept close in the house fer a week er so, an' have to -take physic an' stuff. No good, Bill!" - -"No, ours won't be them kind of colds," Billy explained. "They'll be -the dry-cough, consumption kind, that either cure up quick er slow. -All we gotta do is dig up an Injun turnip out o' the bush an' nibble -it. It'll pucker our throats up so tight we'll be hoarse enough to -sing bass in the choir." - -Maurice let his kindling fall. "Gee!" he exclaimed, "I've got a -piece of Injun turnip in my pocket right now. Ain't that lucky!" - -"How'd you come to have it?" - -"Dug it up to fool Fatty Watland with. Was goin' to tell him it was -a ground-nut. I've had it in fer him ever since he shoved me off the -bridge into the creek." - -"Let's have it." - -Billy took the Indian turnip from his chum and with his knife scraped -off a portion of white, pungent pulp. "Now then, put this on the -back of your tongue, an' leave it there," he directed. - -Maurice grimaced as he licked the bit of pulp from the knife blade. -"'Course we both know this danged thing is pisin," he said, -uncertainly. "Maybe we're fools, Bill?" - -"There's no maybe about it, far's you're concerned. Do as I tell -you; slide it 'way back so's it'll tighten your throat. That's -right," as Maurice heroically obeyed. "Now, let's get up to the -house." - -"But you haven't took yourn!" cried Maurice. - -"Don't need to take mine," Billy informed him. "What's the use of me -takin' any; ain't one bad cough enough?" - -Maurice squirmed in torture. Already the burning wild turnip was -getting in its work. His throat felt as though it were filled with -porcupine quills. He tried to voice a protest against the injustice -Billy had done him but it ended in a wheeze. - -"Fine," commended Billy. "A cold like that oughta be good fer half -the hoarhound, anyway. Let's go in afore the thing wears off. You -take the basket, I'll carry the kindlin' fer you." - -He led the way to the house, Maurice following meekly with the -market-basket, eyes running tears and throat burning. - -Mrs. Keeler was bending over a kettle on the stove, from which the -aroma of wild thimble-berries came in fragrant puffs. - -"So you're back at last, are you?" she addressed Billy, crossly. -"Thought you'd never come. I've been waitin' on that sugar an' stuff -fer two hours er more. Now, you go into the pantry and get somethin' -to eat, while I unpack this basket. I know you must be nigh starved." - -"Had my supper," shouted Billy. He threw the kindling into the wood -box and grinned encouragement at Maurice, who had sunk miserably down -on a stool. - -Mrs. Keeler lifted the basket which Maurice had placed on the floor -at his feet. "What's the matter with you?" she asked, giving him a -shake. - -Maurice looked up at her with tear-filled eyes, and tried to say -something. The effort was vain; not a sound issued from his swollen -lips. Billy promptly advanced to give first aid. - -"Maurice's sick," he shouted in the deaf woman's ear. - -"Sick? Where's he sick?" Mrs. Keeler lifted the basket to the table -and coming back to Maurice, put a berry-stained finger under his -chin. "Stick out your tongue!" she commanded. "Billy, you fetch -that lamp over here." - -Maurice opened his mouth and protruded his stained and swollen tongue. - -"Good gracious!" cried the mother, in alarm. "That good fer nuthin' -boy has gone an' caught the foot an' mouth disease from Kearnie's -sheep." - -"It's jest a bad cold he's caught," Billy reassured her. "He's so -hoarse he can't speak." - -"Well, it might as well be one thing as another," frowned the woman. -"That boy catches everythin' that comes along, anyway. I s'pose I'll -have to quit my preservin' to mix him up a dose of allaways." - -Maurice shivered and gazed imploringly at Billy. - -"If you had somethin' sweet an' soothin' to give him," Billy -suggested. "Pine syrup, er hoarhound, er somethin' like that, now--" - -"Why, maybe you're right," agreed Mrs. Keeler, "an' I do declare! -I've got some hoarhound right here in this basket. Ain't it lucky I -sent fer it?" - -The boys exchanged glances. The scheme was working! Mrs. Keeler -went back to the basket on the table and started to remove the -packages, one by one. - -Billy addressed his chum in tones so low the deaf woman could not -hear. "Now, maybe you'll think I know what I'm doin'," he commenced, -then jumped guiltily, as a cry of indignation came from the other -side of the room. Mrs. Keeler was untying the parcels, one after -another, and emptying their contents in the basket. Billy stared. -Each of the parcels contained--_sawdust_. - -She turned slowly, stern eyes looking above her glasses straight into -his startled and apprehensive ones. - -"Well?" she said ominously, "I s'pose you think you've played a smart -trick, you young limb!" - -Billy tried to say something. His lips moved dumbly. Moisture -gathered between his shoulder blades, condensed as it met cold fear, -and trickled in tiny rivulets down his shivering spine. - -He glanced at the door. Mrs. Keeler's square form interposed itself -staunchly between him and that means of exit. His wild eyes strayed -to the face of his chum. Maurice was grinning a glad, if swollen, -grin. There was nothing to do but face the music. - -Mrs. Keeler was advancing towards him now; advancing slowly like some -massed avenging force of doom. "I didn't do that," he finally -managed to articulate. "I didn't play no trick on you, Missus -Keeler." - -His knees knocked together. Unconsciously, his hand felt gropingly -back toward the wood-box in search of some kind of support. Mrs. -Keeler's deafness was accountable for her misunderstanding of his -words. She brought her advance to a halt and stood panting. - -"I didn't play no trick on you," Billy repeated. - -"I heard you the first time," panted the indignant woman. "You said -if I teched you you'd _take a stick to me_. So you'd commit murder -on a woman who has been a second mother to you, would you! You'd -brain me with a stick out of that wood-box! Oh! Oh!" She lifted -her apron and covered her face. - -In a moment Billy was beside her. "Oh Missus Keeler," he pleaded, -miserably. "I didn't say that. Don't think I'd do anythin' to hurt -you, 'cause I wouldn't. An' I wouldn't play no dirty trick on you. -You've been good to me an' I think a heap o' you, even if you do cuff -me sometimes. Mr. Spencer put up that basket himself while I was -over to the cottage, gittin' my supper." - -Slowly the apron was lowered. Slowly the woman's hands dropped to -Billy's shoulders and she gazed into his uplifted eyes. Then she did -a thing which was quite characteristic of her. She bent and gave -each of the wide grey eyes upraised to hers a resounding kiss. Then, -roughly pushing him away, she reached for her shawl and hat hanging -on the wall. - -"You boys stay right here and keep fire under that kettle," she -commanded. "I'm goin' to take that old Caleb Spencer's sawdust back -to him an' give him a piece of my mind." And picking up the basket -she went out, banging the door behind her. - -The boys gazed at each other and Maurice's chuckle echoed Billy's, -although it was raspy and hoarse. - -"Throat burnin' yet?" inquired Billy. - -"You bet," Maurice managed to answer. - -"Well, you go along to the milkhouse an' lick the cream off a pan of -milk. It'll settle that Injun turnip quick." - -Maurice scooted for the back door. He returned in a little while -with white patches of cream adhering to chin and nose. "Gosh!" he -sighed gratefully, "that was soothin'." - -"What dye s'pose made Caleb Spencer put up that job on me?" -questioned Billy. "I never fooled him any. I did cut some letters -on his new bench, but he needn't feel so sore at that." - -"Well, jest you wait till Ma asks him why he did it," laughed -Maurice, who now was almost normal again. "Ma's great on gettin' -explanations, she is." - -Billy went down into his pocket and drew forth a furry object about -the size of a pocket knife and held it under his chum's eyes. - -"Gollies!" exclaimed Maurice. "It's your rabbit foot charm. Where -d'you find it, Bill?" - -"Found it this mornin' down by the pine grove near old Scroggie's -ha'nted house. Stood on this side of the creek an' sent ol' Moll -into the grove. She brought it to me. She's a great little dog, -Moll. Now we're ready to hunt ol' Scroggie's buried money an' lost -will." - -"What! Tonight?" - -"Sure. Do you want somebody else to stumble on it first? We've -gotta hunt tonight an' every night till we find it, that's all." - -"But we can't go now. I dassent leave them preserves. If I do Ma'll -skin me. Anyways, ain't we goin' to let Elgin an' Fatty in on it, -Bill?" - -"Naw, you know what they'd do. They'd let the cat out o' the bag -sure. They're all right fer light work sech as swipin' watermelon -an' helpin' make a seine-haul but they ain't no good at treasure an' -will huntin'." - -"Maybe you're right," Maurice said, "but I'm goin' t' tell you I -ain't feelin' any too much like prowlin' 'round that ha'nted house -this night er any other night." - -Billy pushed his friend into a chair and stood before him. "Now look -here, Scarecat," he said, "you're goin' to help me find that money -an' will, an' I'll tell you why. You know what happened to Mr. -Stanhope, the teacher, don't you? He's gone blind an' has had to -give up teachin' the school, hasn't he?" - -Maurice nodded, his face grave. - -"Well, what kind of a feller is he, anyway? Come, answer up." - -"He's a mighty fine feller," cried Maurice enthusiastically. - -"You're right, he is. Well, what's he goin' to do now? He can't -work, kin he?" - -"Gollies, no. I never thought--' - -"Well, it's time you did think. Now you know that ol' Scroggie left -him everythin' he owned, don't you?" - -"'Course I do." - -"Only he can't prove it, kin he?" - -"No! Not without the will." - -"Well, then?" Billy sat down on a corner of the table and eyed his -friend reproachfully. - -Maurice squirmed uneasily, then he said: "'Course, Bill, it's up to -you an' me to find that will. But I'll be shot if I'd do what we'll -have to do fer anybody else in the world but him." - -"Say, here's a piece of news fer you," cried Billy. "We're goin' to -get ol' Harry O'Dule to help us. He's the seventh son of a seventh -son. We're goin' over to his cabin to see him tonight." - -"Gee! Bill, we oughta find it if we get Harry to help, but I can't -see how I'm goin' to get away," said Maurice ruefully. - -Just here a step sounded on the gravel outside and a knock fell on -the door. Maurice opened the door and in stepped Anson. - -He glanced suspiciously from one to the other of the boys, then said: -"Ma sent me to see what happened to you, Bill. She says come on home -to your supper." - -"Had my supper," Billy informed him. "You go on back and tell Ma -that." - -"You've gotta come, too." - -"No, Anse, I promised Missus Keeler that me an' Maurice would keep -fire under that preservin' kettle till she gits back from the store. -I need the ten cents to buy fish hooks with, besides--' - -"Gee! Bill, is she goin' to give you ten cents fer helpin' Maurice -keep fire on?" asked Anson eagerly. - -"Well, she didn't 'zactly promise she would, but--" - -"Say, fellers, let me stay with you an' we'll split three ways, eh?" -suggested Anson. - -"No," said Billy, with finality. - -"'Tain't enough fer a three-way split," said Maurice. - -"Well, you can't hinder me from stayin', an' I figger I'm in fer a -third," said Anson, seating himself doggedly near the stove. - -Billy's face cracked into a grin which he was careful to turn from -his step-brother. "How'd you like to do all the firin' an' get all -the reward, Anse?" he suggested. "I've got a milk-snake here that I -want'a get put safe away in the root-house afore Ma takes in the -lantern. Maurice'll come along an' help me stow him away." - -"All right, I'll stay an' fire," agreed Anson. "But remember," as -the other boys reached for their hats, "I ain't agoin' to share up -what Missus Keeler gives me with you fellers." - -"You're welcome to keep all she gives you fer yourself," said Billy. - -"Sure," said Maurice. "She'll likely hold somethin' back fer me, -anyway. Don't ferget to keep a good fire on, Anse," he admonished, -as he followed Billy outside. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE RABBIT FOOT CHARM - -The place which old Harry O'Dule called home was a crumbling log -cabin on the shore of Levee Creek, just on the border of the Scroggie -bush. Originally it had been built as a shelter for sheep, but with -the clearing of the land it had fallen into disuse. O'Dule had found -it on one of his pilgrimages and had promptly appropriated it unto -himself. Nobody thought of disputing his possession, perhaps because -most of the good people of Scotia inwardly feared the old man's -uncanny powers of second sight, and the foreshadowing--on those who -chose to cross him--of dire evils, some of which had been known to -materialize. Old Harry boasted that he was the seventh son of a -seventh son. - -"It's born under a caul was I," he told them. "An' minny a mystery -has been cleared up in ould Ireland be meself, I'm tellin' ye." - -At which some laughed and some scoffed. Deacon Ringold had sternly -advised the old man to return to the country where black magic was -still countenanced, as there was no place for it in an enlightened -and Christian community such as Scotia, a suggestion that old Harry -took in seeming good humor. But the fact that the deacon lost two -milk cows and four hogs, through sickness during the fortnight which -followed, had caused considerable discussion throughout the -settlement. - -O'Dule had cut a window in the cabin, installed an old stove, table -and chairs, and succeeded in making the place home-like enough to -suit his simple taste. To-night he stood by the stove, frying -potatoes and humming an Irish song. On the table lay a loaf of bread -and some butter in a saucer, while close beside it a coal oil lamp -gave a smoky light to the room. In the center of the table reposed a -huge blue-grey cat, its amber eyes on Harry and its forepaws curled -contentedly beneath its furry breast. All about the room hung the -skins of wild animals--deer, bear, lynx and coon. A pile of skins -lay in one corner. This was O'Dule's bed. - - "Och! Billy O'Shune can't ye whistle t' me, - Av the gurril ye loved on the Isle 'cross the sea-- - Shure it's weary I am av that drear, sorry song - So stop liltin', through tears, wid a visage so long-- - Come, it's me ears a glad ditty would hear-- - Av love 'neath th' skies av ould Ireland, dear-- - Come, let us be glad--both togither, me lad-- - There's good fish in the sea as has iver been had-- - --Och, Billy O'Shune-- - That's not much av a chune." - - -So hummed old Harry as he stirred the potatoes and wet his vocal -chords, occasionally, from the jug at his feet. - -Suddenly a knock fell on the door. - -"In ye come," invited the Irishman and there entered Billy and -Maurice. - -"Sit ye down, lads, sit ye down," cried the hospitable Harry. -"Begobs, but it's a fine brace av byes ye are, an' no mistake. Wull -ye be afther suppin' a bit wid me? The repast is all but spread an' -it's full welcome ye are, both." - -"We've had our supper," said Billy. "Thought we'd like to see you -fer a minute er two, Harry," he added gravely, as he and his chum -seated themselves. - -"Alone," said Maurice, significantly. - -"Faith an' ain't I alone enough to suit ye?" laughed Harry. "Would -ye have me put the cat out, thin? Now, phwat is ut?" - -The boys glanced at each other. "You tell him," whispered Billy, but -Maurice shook his head. "No, you," he whispered back. - -Billy braced himself and took a long breath. "We've made up our -minds t' find old man Scroggie's will," he said. - -"An' money," said Maurice. "We want you to help us, Harry." - -"God love us!" ejaculated Harry, dropping the knife with which he was -stirring the potatoes and reaching for the demijohn. "An' fer why -should ye be out on that wild goose chase, now?" - -"'Cause we want Teacher Stanhope to have what belongs to him," said -Billy warmly. - -"Do ye now? God love him but that was a hard slap in th' face he got -fer playin' the man's part, so ut was. Only this night did I say as -much to Caleb Spencer. Ut's meself would like t' see him get what -was his by rights, byes." - -"We knew that," cried Billy, eagerly; "that's why we come to you, -Harry. You say you've found buried treasure in Ireland; won't you -help us find the lost will an' money?" - -O'Dule transferred the potatoes from the frying pan to a cracked -plate. He sat down at the table and ate his supper without so much -as another word. The boys watched him, fear in their hearts that the -eccentric old Irishman would refuse their request. - -After a time Harry pushed his stool back from the table. "Byes," he -said, producing a short black pipe from his pocket. "It's lend ye a -spade and lantern I'll do an' gladly; but it's yerselves would surely -not be axin' me t' test me powers ag'in a spirrut. Listen now. Old -Scroggie's ghost do be guardin' his money, wheriver it lies. That -you know as well as me. It's frank I'll be wid ye, an' tell ye that -ag'in spirruts me powers are as nuthin'. An' go widin the unholy -circle av the ha'nted grove to do favor t' aither man 'er divil I'll -not." - -"But think of what it means to him," urged Billy. "Besides, Harry, -I've got a charm that'll keep ol' Scroggie's ghost away," he added, -eagerly. - -"An' phwat is ut?" Old Harry's interest was real. He laid his pipe -down on the table and leaned towards Billy. - -"It's the left hind foot of a grave-yard rabbit," said Billy, proudly -exhibiting the charm. - -O'Dule's shaggy brows met in a frown. "Ut's no good a'tall, a'tall," -he said, contemptuously. "Ut's not aven a snake-bite that trinket -wud save ye from, let alone a ghost." - -Billy felt his back-bone stiffen in resentment. Then he noted that -the milk snake, which he had thought snugly asleep in his coat -pocket, had awakened in the warmth of the little cabin and slipped -from the pocket and now lay, soiled and happy, beneath the rusty -stove. He saw his opportunity to get back at O'Dule for his scoffing. - -"All right, Harry," he said airily, "if that's all you know about -charms, I guess you haven't any that 'ud help us much. But let me -tell you that rabbit-foot charm kin do wonders. It'll not only keep -you from bein' bit by snakes but by sayin' certain words to it you -kin bring a snake right in to your feet with it, an' you kin pick it -up an' handle it without bein' bit, too." - -"Och, it's a brave lad ye are, Billy bye," Harry wheezed, "an' a -brave liar, too. Go on wid yer nonsense, now." - -"It's a fact, Harry," backed Maurice. - -"Fact," cried O'Dule, angrily now. "Don't ye be comin' to me, a -siventh son av a siventh son, wid such nonsinse. Faith, if yon -worthless rabbit-fut kin do phwat ye claim, why not prove ut t' me -now?" - -"An' if we do," asked Billy eagerly, "will you agree to use your -power to help us find the money an' will?" - -"That I'll do," assented Harry, unhesitatingly. "Call up yer snake -an' handle ut widout bein' bit, an' I'll help ye." - -"All right, I'll do it," said Billy. "Jest turn the lamp down a -little, Harry." - -"Me hands are a bit unsteady," said Harry, quickly. "We'll l'ave the -light be as ut is, Billy." - -"It ought'a be dark," protested Billy, "but I'll try it anyway." He -lifted the rabbit foot to his face and breathed some words upon it. -Then in measured tones he recited: - - "Hokey-pokey Bamboo Brake-- - Go an' gather in a snake--' - - -Slowly Billy lowered the charm and looked at Harry. The old man sat, -puffing his short pipe, a derisive grin on his unshaven lips. - -"It's failed ye have, as I knowed ye wud," he chuckled. "Ye best be -lavin' now, both av ye, wid yer pranks." - -"But," said Billy quickly, "the charm did work. It brought the -snake, jest as I said it would." - -"Brought ut? Where is ut, thin?" Harry sat up straight, his little -eyes flashing in fright. - -"It's under the stove. See it?" - -Harry bent and peered beneath the stove. "Be the scales av the -divil!" he shivered, "is ut a big, mottled snake I see, or have I got -what always I feared I might get some day. Is ut the D.T.'s I've -got, I wonder? How come the reptile here, anyhow, byes?" - -"You told me to bring it in, didn't you?" Billy inquired, mildly. - -"Yis, yis, Billy. But hivins! ut's little did I think that cat-paw -av a charm had such power," groaned the wretched Irishman. "Ut's -yourself said ut would let you handle reptiles widout bein' bit. -Thin fer the love ov hivin pluck yon serpent from beneath the stove -an' hurl ut outside into the blackness where ut belongs." - -Billy arose and moving softly to the stove picked up the harmless -milk snake, squirming and protesting, from the warm floor. O'Dule -watched him with fascinated eyes. The big cat had risen and with -back fur and tail afluff spit vindictively as Billy passed out -through the door. - -When he returned O'Dule was seated on the edge of the table, his feet -on a stool. He was taking a long sup from the demijohn. - -"Well, do you believe in my charm now?" Billy asked. - -"I do," said Harry unhesitatingly. - -"An' you'll help us, as you promised?" - -"Did ye iver hear av Harry O'Dule goin' back on a promise?" said the -old man, reproachfully. "Help you wull I shurely, an' I'll be -tellin' ye how. Go ye over t' the corner, Billy, an' pull up the -loose board av the flure. Ye'll be findin' a box there. Yis, that's -right. Now fetch ut here. Look ye both, byes." - -Harry lifted the little tin box to his knees and opened it. From it -he brought forth a conglomeration of articles. There were queer -little disks of hammered brass and copper, an egg-shaped object that -sparkled like crystal in the lamplight, a crotch-shaped branch of a -tree. As he handled those objects tenderly the old man's face was -tense and he mumbled something entirely meaningless to the watchers. -Finally, with an exclamation of triumph, he brought forth a piece of -metal the size and shape of an ordinary lead pencil. - -"Look ye," he cried, holding it aloft. "The fairies' magic arrer, ut -is, an' ut niver fails t' fall on the spot where the treasure lies -hidden. Foind Scroggie's buried money ut would have long ago if ut -wasn't fer the ould man's spirrut that roams the grove. As I told ye -afore, ut's no charm ag'in the spirruts av the departed, as yon -grave-yard rabbit's fut is." - -"But with the two of 'em," cried Billy eagerly, "we kin surely find -the will, Harry." - -"It's right true ye spake," nodded Harry. "An' mebbe sooner than we -think. An' ut's the young t'acher wid the blindness that gets it -all, ye say?" - -"Ol' Scroggie left it all to him," said Billy. - -"Begobs, so I've heard before." Harry scratched his head -reflectively. - -"Well, God love his gentle heart, ut's himself now'll hardly be -carin' phwat becomes o' the money, let alone he gets possession av -the thousand acre hardwoods, I'm thinkin'," he said, fastening his -eyes on Billy's face. "I'd be wishin' the young t'acher to be -ginerous, byes." - -"He will," cried Billy, "I know he will." - -"Thin God bless him," cried Harry. "Now grasp tight t' yer rabbit -fut, an' we'll be afther goin' on our way t' tempt Satan, over beyant -in the evil cedars." - -Five minutes later the trio were out on the forest path, passing in -Indian file towards the haunted grove. The wind had risen and now -swept through the great trees with ghostly sound. A black cloud, -creeping up out of the west, was wiping out the stars. Throughout -the forest the notes of the night-prowlers were strangely hushed. No -word was spoken between the treasure-seekers until the elm-bridged -creek was reached. Then old Harry paused, with labored breath, his -head bent as though listening. - -"Hist," he whispered and Billy and Maurice felt their flesh creep. -"Ut's hear that swishin' av feet above, ye do? Ut's the Black troup -houldin' their course 'twixt the seared earth an' the storm. The -witches of Ballyclue, ut is, an' whin they be out on their mad run -the ghoste av dead min hould wild carnival. Ut'll be needin' that -rabbit-fut sure we wull, if the ha'nted grove we enter this night." - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -LUCK RIDES THE STORM - -Beneath the shadow of the coming storm the forest gloom deepened to -velvet blackness. Suddenly a tongue of lightning licked the -tree-tops and a crash of thunder shattered the stillness. A few -heavy rain-drops spattered on the branches above the heads of the -waiting three. Billy and Maurice, a strange terror tugging at their -heart-strings, waited for old Harry to give the word forward. But -Harry seemed to be in no great hurry to voice such command. Fear had -gripped his superstitious soul and the courage loaned him from the -squat demijohn was fast oozing away. - -Above, the blue-white lightning zig-zagged and the boom of the -thunder shook the earth. A huge elm shivered and shrieked as if in -agony as a darting tongue of flame enwrapped it like a yellow -serpent, splitting its heart in twain. - -Billy found himself, face down, on the wet moss. Maurice was tugging -at his arm. The stricken tree had burst into flame, beneath the -ghostly light of which path, creek and pine-grove stood out -clear-limned as a cameo against a velvet background. Billy noted -this as he sat dazedly up. He and Maurice were alone; old Harry had -vanished. - -"He's gone," Maurice answered his chum's look. "Took to his heels -when the lightnin' struck that elm. The shock knocked us both down. -He was gone when I come to." - -Billy grinned a wan grin and pressed his knuckles against his aching -eyes. "So's my milk-snake," he said. "Guess I spilled him out o' my -pocket when I fell. Gee! that was a close call. Say, Maurice, ain't -it queer though? I was feelin' mighty scared an' trembly afore that -bolt fell, but now I feel nervy enough to tackle any ghost. How -'bout you?" - -"By gosh! that's jest how I feel, Bill. That lightnin' knocked all -the scare plumb out o' me. I don't like these no-rain sort of -thunderstorms though," he added. "They're always slashin' out when -they're least expected." - -"Well, the lightnin' part of this un's about past us, Maurice. But -the rain's comin'. Guess that ol' elm's done fer. She's dead, -though, else she wouldn't burn like that. By hokey!" he broke off, -"will you look here?" - -He picked up something that glittered in the firelight, and held it -up for his chum's inspection. - -"Old Harry's fairy arrer," gasped Maurice. "Oh say, Bill, ain't that -lucky? He must have lost it in his scramble to get away." - -"Likely. Now I move we go right over into that ha'nted grove. What -you say?" - -Maurice swallowed hard, "I'm blame fool enough fer anythin' since I -got knocked silly by that bolt," he answered, "so I'm game if you -are." - -"Watch out!" warned Billy, grasping him by the arm and jerking him to -one side, "that struck elm is goin' to fall." A rainbow of flame -flashed close before the boys, as the stricken tree crashed across -the path, hurling forth a shower of sparks as it came to earth. Then -inky darkness followed and from the black canopy which a moment ago -had seemed to touch the tree tops the rain fell in torrents. - -"Bill, Oh Bill! where 'bouts are you?" Maurice's voice sounded -muffled and far away to his chum's ears. - -"I'm right here," he answered. - -"Gollies! but ain't it dark? I can't see anythin' of you, Bill." - -"Ner me, either. I guess we'll have to give up the hunt fer t'night, -Maurice. Anyways, we don't know jest how to work ol' Harry's fairy -arrer." - -"No, we'll have to find out. Say, Bill, where 'bouts is the path?" - -"Gee! how am I to know; it's right here somewheres, though." - -"I guess I've found it, Bill. Come over close, so's I kin touch you, -then we'll be movin' 'long. Hully gee! but I'm wet. Got both them -charms safe?" - -"Right here in my two fists, Maurice." - -"Well, hang to 'em tight till we get away from this ha'nted grove. -Ghosts don't mind rain none--an' he's liable t' be prowlin' out. -Say, can't y' whistle a bit, so's it won't be so pesky lonesome?" - -Billy puckered up his lips, but his effort was a failure. "You try, -Maurice," he said, "I can't jest keep the hole in my mouth steady -long enough t' whistle." - -"Gosh! ain't I been trying," groaned Maurice. "My teeth won't keep -still a'tall. Maybe I won't be one glad kid when we get out 'a here." - -For half an hour they groped their way forward, no further words -passing between them. The heavy roar of the rain on the tree tops -made conversation next to impossible. The darkness was so dense they -were forced to proceed slowly and pause for breath after bumping -violently against a tree or sapling. They had been striving for what -seemed to both to be a long, long time to find the clearing when -Billy paused in his tracks and spoke: "It's no use, Maurice. We're -lost." - -Maurice sank weakly down against a tree trunk, and groaned. - -"I guess we've struck into the big woods," Billy informed him. -"Anyways, the trees are gettin' thicker the further we go." - -"Gee! Bill, there might be wolves an' bears in this woods," said -Maurice, fearfully. - -"Sure there might but I guess all we kin do is take our chance with -'em." - -"Well, I'd rather take a chance with a bear than a ghost, wouldn't -you Bill?" - -"Betcha, I would. Say Maurice," he broke out excitedly, "there's a -light comin' through the trees. See it? It's movin'. Must be -somebody with a lantern." - -"I see it," Maurice replied in guarded tones. "Bill, that light's -comin' this way, sure as shootin'." - -"Looks like it. Wonder who it kin be? Maybe somebody lookin' fer -us." - -The two boys crouched down beside a great beech. The light, which -had not been a great distance from them when first sighted, was -rapidly approaching. Billy grasped his chum's arm. "Look," he -whispered, "there's two of 'em." - -"I see 'em," his friend whispered back. "Gosh! looks as though -they're goin' to tramp right onto us." - -However, the night-roamers of the forest did not walk into them. -Instead they came very close to the boys and halted. The man who -carried the lantern set it down on the ground and spoke in gruff -tobes to his companion, a short, heavy-set man with a fringe of black -beard on his face. - -"I tell you, Jack, we'll hide the stuff there. It'll be safe as a -church." - -"I say no, Tom," the other returned, surlily. "It won't be safe -there. Somebody'll be sure to find it." - -The other man turned on him angrily. "Who'll find it?" he retorted. -"Don't be a fool, Jack. You couldn't pull anybody to that place with -a loggin' chain. It's the safest spot in the world to hide the -stuff, I tell ye. Besides, the boat orter be in in a few days, and -we kin slip the stuff to Cap. Jacques without the boss ever knowin' -how far we've exceeded his orders." - -"All right," gruffly assented his companion, "if you're so cock sure, -it suits me all right. Come on; let's get out of this cussed woods. -Remember we've got some work before us tonight." - -The man named Tom picked up the lantern and moved on, cursing the -rain and the saplings that whipped his face at every step. His pal -followed without a word. - -The boys waited until the lantern's glow grew hazy through the -slackening rain, then they sprang up and followed. Three-quarters of -an hour later the trees began to thin. Unwittingly the strangers had -guided them into the clearing. - -As they reached the open the rain ceased altogether. High above a -few pale stars were beginning to probe through the tattered clouds. -The men with the lantern were rapidly moving across the stumpy -fallow, towards the causeway. - -"Will we foller 'em, Bill?" asked Maurice eagerly. - -Billy shook his head. "I'd sort o' like to," he said, slowly, "jest -to find out what game they're up to, but I guess if we know what's -good fer us we'll go home an' take off these wet duds. Hard lookin' -customers, wasn't they?" - -"Hard, I should say so! I'll bet either one of 'em 'ud murder a hull -family fer ten cents. Say, Bill, maybe they're pirates; you heard -what they said about a boat, didn't you?" - -"Yep, I heard, but they ain't pirates, 'cause they didn't have no -tattoo marks on 'em, er rings in their ears; but whoever they are -they're up to no good. They're aimin' to hide somethin' somewheres, -but jest what it is an' where they intend hidin' it there's no way of -tellin'; so come on, let's get movin'." - -In silence they made their way across the clearing to the road. -"Say, Bill," said Maurice, as they paused to rest on the top rail of -the fence, "do you 'spose we best tell our dads about seein' them -men?" - -"Naw, can't you see if we told our dads that, they'd want 'a know -what you an' me was doin' out in Scroggie's bush in the rain, at that -hour of the night? No siree, we won't say a word 'bout it." - -"Then s'posin' we try an' find out something 'bout 'em fer ourselves, -eh?" - -"Say, you give me a pain," cried Billy. "Don't you 'spose we've got -all we kin do ahead of us now?" - -"Findin' Scroggie's money an' will, you mean?" - -"Sure. Now shut up an' let's get home. I expect Ma'll be waitin' up -to give me hail Columbia, an' I guess you won't be gettin' any -pettin' from yourn, either." - -"I know what I'll be gettin' from mine, all right," said Maurice, -moodily. "Say, Bill," he coaxed, "you come along over by our place -an' smooth things over fer me, will you? You kin do anythin' with -Ma." - -"No," said Billy, "I got to be movin' on." - -"But I'll get an awful hidin' if you don't. I don't mind an ordinary -tannin' but a tannin' in these wet pants is goin' to hurt like fury. -They're stickin close to my legs. I might as well be naked an' Ma -she certainly does lay it on." - -Billy laughed. "All right, I'll come along, but I ain't believin' -anythin' I kin say to your Ma'll keep you from gettin' it." - -The boys slid from the fence, then leaped back as something long and -white rose from behind a fallen tree and, with a startled snort, -confronted them. - -"Gollies!" ejaculated Billy. "It's a hog. I thought, first off, it -was a bear." - -Maurice peered out from behind a tree. "Well, I'll be jiggered!" he -exclaimed. "It's our old sow. She's been lost fer nigh onto two -weeks, an' Dad's been huntin' fer her everywhere." - -"That so? Then we'll drive her home." - -"Aw, say, Bill," protested Maurice, "I'm tired an' wet as a -water-logged plank. Let her go. I'll tell Dad, an' he kin come -after her tomorrow." - -"No, we'll drive her home now. I guess I know what's best. Get on -t'other side of her. Now then, don't let her turn back!" - -Maurice grumblingly did his share of the driving. It was no easy -task to pilot that big, rangy sow into the safe harbor of the Keeler -barnyard but done it was at last. - -"Ma's got the light burnin' an' the strap waitin' fer her little -boy," chaffed Billy as they put up the barn-yard bars. - -Maurice, who had climbed the fence so as to get a glimpse of the -interior of his home through a window, whistled softly as his eyes -took in the scene within. - -"Say, Billy," he cried, "your Ma an' Pa's there." - -"Gee whitticker!" exclaimed Billy. "I wish now I hadn't promised you -I'd come in. All right, lead on. Let's get the funeral over with." - -Without so much as another word the boys went up the path. - -"If I don't see you ag'in alive, Bill, good bye," whispered Maurice -as he opened the door. - -Mrs. Keeler, who was doing her best to catch what her neighbor was -saying, lifted her head as the two wet and tired boys entered the -room. - -"There they be now," she said grimly. "The two worst boys in Scotia, -Mrs. Wilson." - -"I believe you, Mrs. Keeler," nodded her friend. "Now then, where -have you two drowned rats been tonight, Willium?" - -Cobin Keeler, who was playing a game of checkers with Billy's father, -cleared his throat and leaned forward like a judge on the bench, -waiting for the answer to his neighbor's question. - -"We got----" commenced Maurice, but Billy pinched his leg for silence. - -"I got track of your lost sow, Mr. Keeler, when I was comin' home -from the store tonight," he said. "Least-wise I didn't know it was -your sow but Maurice told me about yours bein' lost. So after Mrs. -Keeler went to give Mr. Spencer a call down we hired Anse to look -after the preservin' an' went out to try an' track her down." - -Maurice, who had listened open mouthed to his chum's narration, -sighed deeply. "We had an awful time," he put in, only to receive a -harder pinch for his pains. - -"But you didn't see her, did ye?" Cobin asked eagerly. - -Disregarding the question, Billy continued: "The tracks led us a long -ways, I kin tell you. We got up into the Scroggie bush at last an' -then the rain come." - -"But we kept right on trackin--" put in Maurice, eagerly. "After the -stars come out again, of course," explained Billy, managing to skin -Maurice's shin with his boot-heel, "an' we found her--" - -"You found her?" cried Cobin, leaping up. - -"Jest half an hour ago," said Billy. - -"Good lads!" cried Cobin heartily, "Ma, hear that? They found ol' -Junefly. Wasn't that smart of 'em, an' in all that rain, too." - -"Who'd you say was agoin' to soon die?" Mrs. Keeler put her hand to -her ear and leaned forward. - -"I say the boys found the old sow, Ma!" Cobin shouted. - -"They _did_?" Mrs. Keeler turned towards Billy and Maurice, her face -aglow. "An' was that what they was adoin'? Now I'm right sorry I -spoke harsh. I am so. Ain't you, Mrs. Wilson?" - -"Oh, I must say that Willium does do somethin' worth while, once in a -long while," returned her neighbor, grudgingly. "But Anson, now--" - -Mrs. Keeler broke in. "Anson, humph! Why, that boy had the nerve to -say that I should give him ten cents fer watchin' the kettle while -them two dear boys was out in the storm, huntin' fer Pa's sow. I -give him a box on the ear instead an' sent him home on the jump. -Maybe I was a bit hasty but I was mad after havin' to give that old -Caleb Spencer a piece of my mind fer sendin' me sawdust instead of -groceries. I guess he won't try that ag'in." - -Billy moved towards the door. "I'd best be gettin' home," he said, -"I'm awful wet." - -"Stay all night with Maurice," invited Mrs. Keeler. "You an' him kin -pile right into bed now and I'll bring you both a bowl of hot bread -and milk." - -Billy glanced at his mother. - -"You kin stay if your want to, Willium," she said, "only see that you -are home bright and early in the mornin'. Your Pa'll want you to -help hill potaters." - -She stood up. "Well, Tom, if you and Cobin are through with the game -don't start another. It's late an' time all decent folks was home -abed." - -Snug in Maurice's corn-husk bed in the attic, the boys lay and -listened for the door to open and close. Then Maurice chuckled. - -"Gee! Bill, I could'a knocked your head off fer makin' me help drive -ol' Junefly home but now I see you knowed what you was doin'. Holy -smoke! I wish't I was as smart as you." - -"Go to sleep," said Billy drowsily. - -Half an hour later when Mrs. Keeler carrying two bowls of steaming -bread and milk ascended the stairs Billy alone sat up to reach for it. - -"Is Maurice asleep?" whispered the woman. - -Billy nodded. - -"Well, you might as well have both bowls then. I don't like to see -good bread an' milk wasted." - -She set the bowls down on the little table beside the bed, placed the -lamp beside them, then leaning over tucked the blankets about the -boys. - -"No use tryin' to wake Maurice," she said as she turned to go. "As -well try to wake the dead. Remember, you boys get up when I call -you." - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -MOVING THE MENAGERIE - -Billy and Maurice, taking the short cut to the Wilson farm across the -rain-drenched fields next morning, were planning the day's programme. - -"Now that we've got ol' Harry's charm along with my rabbit-foot," -Billy was saying, "we ought'a be able to snoop 'round in the ha'nted -grove an' even hunt through the house any time we take the notion. -Maybe we'll get a chance to do it to-day." - -"But, darn it all, Bill," Maurice objected, "there won't be no ghost -to lead the way to the stuff in the daytime." - -"Well, if we take a look over the place in daylight we'll know the -lay-out better at night, won't we? Trigger Finger Tim did that most -times, an' he always got away clean. Supposin' a ghost is close at -your heels, ain't it a good idea to have one or two good runways -picked out to skip on? We're goin' through that ha'nted house in -daylight, so you might as well make up your mind to that." - -Maurice was about to protest further when the rattle of loose spokes -and the beat of a horse's hoofs on the hard road fell on their ears. - -"That's Deacon Ringold's buck-board," Billy informed his chum, -drawing him behind an alder-screened stump. "Say, ain't he drivin'? -Somebody must be sick at his place." Then as the complaining vehicle -swept into sight from around the curve, "By crackey, Maurice, your -Pa's ridin' with him." - -Maurice scratched his head in perplexity. "Wonder where he's takin' -Dad? It's too late fer sheep-shearin' an' too early fer hog-killin'; -an' that's 'bout all Dad's good at doin', 'cept leadin' the singin' -at prayer-meetin'. Wonder what's up? Gee! the deacon is sure -puttin' his old mare over the road." - -"Keep quiet till they get past," cautioned Billy. "Say! we needn't -have been so blamed careful about makin' our sneak if we'd knowed -your Pa was away from home." - -"Oh, look, Bill," said Maurice, "they're stoppin' at your place." - -The deacon had pulled up at the Wilson's gate. "He's shoutin' fer -Pa," Billy whispered, as a resounding "Hello, Tom!" awoke the forest -echoes. "Come on Maurice, let's work our way down along this strip -o' bushes, so's we kin hear what's goin' on." - -The boys wriggled their way through the thicket of sumach, and -reached a clump of golden-rod inside the road fence just as Wilson -came out of the lane. - -"Mornin', neighbors," he greeted the men in the buckboard, "won't you -pull in?" - -"No," said the deacon, "we're on our way to Twin Oaks, Thomas. -Thieves broke into Spencer's store last night. We're goin' up to see -if we can be of any use to Caleb. We'd like you to come along." - -Wilson's exclamation of surprise was checked by Cobin Keeler, whose -long arm reached out and encircled him. He was lifted bodily into -the seat and the buckboard dashed on up the road, the clatter of its -loose spokes drowning the loud voices of its occupants. - -The boys eat up and stared at each other. - -"You heard?" Billy asked in awed tones. - -Maurice nodded. "They said thieves at the store." Forgotten, for -the moment, was old Scroggie's ghost and the buried treasure in this -new something which promised mystery and adventure. - -"Hully Gee!" whispered Billy. "Ain't that rippin'." - -"Ain't it jest?" agreed Maurice. "Say, Bill, there ain't no law -ag'in shootin' robbers is there--store-robbers, I mean?" - -"Naw, why should there be? That's what you're supposed to do, if you -get the chance--shoot 'em, an' get the _re_ward." - -"What's a _re_ward?" - -"Why, it's money, you ninny! You kill the robbers an' you get the -church collection an' lots of other money besides. Then you're rich -an' don't ever have to do any work; jest fish an' hunt an' give -speeches at tea-meetin's an' things." - -"Oh, hokey! ain't that great. How'd you come to know all that, Bill?" - -"Why I read it in Anson's book, 'Trigger-Finger Tim er Dead er -Alive.' Oh, it's all hunky, I tell you." - -"But, Bill, how we goin' to kill them robbers?" - -"Ain't goin' to kill 'em," his friend replied. "Trigger-Finger Tim -never killed his; he took 'em all alive. All he did was crease their -skulls with bullets, an' scrape their spines with 'em, an' when they -come to they'd find themselves tied hand an' foot, an' Trigger-Finger -smokin' his cigarette an' smilin' down on 'em." - -"Gollies!" exulted Maurice. Then uncertainty in his tones, "A feller -'ud have to be a mighty good shot to do that though, Bill." - -"Oh shucks! What's the use of thinkin' 'bout that now? We've gotta -catch them robbers first, ain't we?" - -"Yep, that's so. But how?" - -Billy wriggled free of the golden-rod. "Come on over an' help me -move my menagerie an' we'll plan out a way." - -They climbed the fence and crossed the road to the lane-gate. - -"Now, then," said Billy, "you scoot through the trees to the -root-house, while I go up to the kitchen an' sneak some doughnuts. -Don't let Ma catch a glimpse of you er she'll come lookin' fer me an' -set me to churnin' er somethin' right under her eyes. An' see here," -he warned, as Maurice made for the trees, "don't you get to foolin' -with the snakes er owls, an' you best keep out of ol' Ringdo's reach, -'cause he's a bad ol' swamp coon in some ways. You jest lay close -till I come back." - -Whistling soundlessly, Billy went up the path to the house. He -peered carefully in through the screened door. The room was empty -and so was the pantry beyond. Billy entered, tiptoed softly across -to the pantry and filled his pockets with doughnuts from the big -crock in the cupboard. Then he tip-toed softly out again. - -As he rounded the kitchen, preparatory to a leap across the open -space between it and the big wood-pile, Mrs. Wilson's voice came to -him, high-pitched and freighted with anger. - -"You black, thievin' passel of impudence, you!" she was saying. "If -I had a stick long enough to reach you, you'd never dirty any more of -my new-washed clothes." - -On the top-most branch of a tall, dead pine, close beside the -wood-pile, sat the tame crow, Croaker, his head cocked demurely on -one side, as he listened to the woman's righteous abuse. Croaker -could no more help filling his claws with chips and dirt and wobbling -the full length of a line filled with snowy, newly-washed clothes -than he could help upsetting the pan of water in the chicken-pen, -when he saw the opportunity. He hated anything white with all his -sinful little heart and he hated the game rooster in the same way. -He was always in trouble with Ma Wilson, always in trouble with the -rooster. Only when safe in the highest branch of the pine was he -secure, and in a position to talk back to his persecutors. - -He said something now, low and guttural, to the woman shaking her -fist at him in impotent anger. His voice was almost human in tone, -his attitude so sinister that she shuddered. "That's right, swear at -me, too," she cried, "add insult to injury, you black imp! If it -wasn't fer bein' scared of shootin' myself I'd get the gun an' shoot -you, I would so!" - -Suddenly Croaker stretched himself erect. A soft whistle, so low as -to be inaudible to the indignant woman but clear to his acute ears, -had sounded from the far side of the wood pile. Pausing only long -enough to locate the sound, Croaker spread his wings and volplaned -down, emitting a hoarse croak of triumph almost in Mrs. Wilson's -face, as he swept close above her. - -"Come here, you," spoke a low voice as Croaker settled on the other -side of the wood pile, and the crow promptly perched himself on -Billy's shoulder with a succession of throaty notes that sounded like -crazy laughter, but which were really expressions of unadulterated -joy. For this boy who had taken him from the nest in the swaying elm -when he was nothing but a half-feathered, wide-mouthed fledgling, and -had fed him, cared for him, defended him against cat, dog, rooster -and human beings--for this boy alone Croaker felt all the love his -selfish heart was capable of giving. - -And now as Billy carried him towards the root-house he recited the -various adventures which had been his since they had parted, recited -them, it is true, in hoarse unintelligible crow-language, but which -Billy was careful to indicate he understood right well. - -"So you did all that, did you?" he laughed. "Oh, but you're a smart -bird. But see here, if you go on the way you're doin', dirtyin' Ma's -clean clothes an' abusin' her like I heard you doin', your light's -goin' out sudden one of these days. Ma's scared to shoot the ol' gun -herself, but she'll get Anse to do it. I guess I better shut you up -on wash-mornin's after this." - -"What's he been doin' now, Bill?" asked Maurice as Billy and the crow -joined him beside the root-house. - -"Oh, he's been raisin' high jinks with Ma ag'in," explained Billy. -"He will get his claws full o' dirt an' pigeon-toe along her line of -clean clothes, as soon as her back's turned." - -"Gosh! ain't he a terror?" Maurice exclaimed. "Say, why don't you -put him in the menagerie?" - -"Maurice, you've got about as much sense as a wood-tick," Billy -replied in disgust. "How long d'ye s'pose my snakes an' bats an' -lizards 'ud last if I turned Croaker loose in there?" - -"Pshaw! Bill, he couldn't hurt Spotba, the womper, could he?" - -"Jest couldn't he? I'll take you down to the marsh some day an' show -you how quick he kin kill a womper." - -"Gollies! Is that so? Well he couldn't hurt the black snake; that's -one sure thing." - -"No, it ain't, 'cause he kin kill a black snake a sight easier than -he kin a womper, an' I'll tell you why. Black-snakes have got teeth. -They bite. But their backbone is easy broke. A womper hasn't any -teeth. He strikes with his bony nose. You know what one of them -snakes kin do? You saw that big one, down in Patterson's swamp lay -open Moll's face with one slash. They're thick necked, an' take a -lot of killin'. This crow kin kill a black-snake with one slash of -his bill. He has to choke the womper to death." - -Maurice scratched his head thoughtfully. "Say, you know a lot about -snakes an' things, don't you?" he said admiringly. - -"Maybe I do, but I ain't tellin' all I know," said Billy. "What's -the good? Nobody 'ud believe me." - -"What you mean, believe you?" - -"Why, if I said I saw a fight between a little brown water-snake no -bigger'n a garter snake, an' a fish-hawk, an' the snake licked the -hawk, d'ye s'pose anyone 'ud believe that?" - -"I dunno. Maybe, an' maybe not." - -"Supposin' I said the snake _killed the hawk?_" - -"Oh, gee whitticker! nobody 'ud believe that, Bill." - -"There now. Nobody 'ud believe it. An' yet I saw it." - -"You saw it?" Maurice, who could not think of questioning his chum's -word, gasped in amazement. - -"Yep, I saw it last spring--in the Eau rice beds, it was. I was -tryin' to find a blue-winged teal's nest. Saw the drake trail off -an' knowed the duck must be settin' somewhere on the high land close -beside the pond. As I was standin' still, lookin' about, this little -water snake come swimmin' 'cross a mushrat run. Jest then I saw a -shadder cross the reeds, an' a fish-hawk swooped down an' made a grab -at the snake. The snake dived an' come up close to shore. The hawk -wheeled an' swooped ag'in. This time the water was too shallow fer -snakie to get clear away. The hawk grabbed him in his claws an' -started up with him. 'Goodbye, little snake,' I thought, an' jest -then I noticed that the hawk was havin' trouble; fer one thing, he -wasn't flyin' straight, an' he was strikin' with his curved beak -without findin' anythin'. Pretty soon he started saggin' down to the -reeds. I jumped into the punt an' made fer the spot where I thought -he'd come down. Jest as I got there he splashed into the shallow -water. I stood up in the punt, an' then I saw what had happened. -The little water-snake had coiled round the hawk's neck an' had kept -its head close under his throat. You know that a water snake has two -little saw teeth, one on each side of the upper jaw. I've often -wondered what good a pair of teeth like that could be to 'em, but I -don't any more, 'cause that little snake had cut that hawk's throat -with them snags an' saved himself." - -"An' so he got away!" sighed Maurice. - -"Well, he should have, but I didn't let him. I thought I'd like to -own a snake as plucky as that, so I caught him--didn't have no -trouble, he was awful tired--an' brought him up here to the -menagerie." - -Maurice whistled. "Gee! Bill, you don't mean t' tell me that -water-snake you call Hawk-killer is him?" - -"Yep, that's him. Now," he cried tossing Croaker into a tree, "I'll -tell you what we gotta do. We gotta move these pets down to that old -sugar-shanty in our woods. Ma's got so nervous with havin' 'em here -that I'm afraid Anse might take it in his head to let 'em out, er -kill 'em. I've got 'em all boxed nice an' snug. All I want you to -do is help me carry 'em. We can do it in two trips. Ringdo, of -course, 'll stay along up here. Ma's not scared of him like she is -of the other things. Come along." - -He unpropped the root-house door and threw it open. Maurice -hesitated on the threshold, peering into the darkness. - -"Are you sure you've got 'em boxed safe, Bill?" he asked, fearfully. - -"Bet ye I am." - -"Then, here's fer it, but I must say I'll be glad when the job's -done," shivered Maurice, following his chum into the blackness of the -root-house. - -Croaker hopped to a lower branch and peered in after his master. -Then, catching sight of a doughnut which had spilled from Billy's -pocket, he fluttered down to the ground, and with many caressing -croaks proceeded to make a meal of it. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -IN LOST MAN'S SWAMP - -The August days were passing swiftly, each fragrant dawn marking -another step towards that inevitable something which must be -faced--the reopening of the Valley School by a new teacher. Billy's -heart saddened as the fields ripened and the woods turned red and -gold. For once his world was out of tune. Maurice Keeler was sick -with measles and Elgin Scraff lay ill with the same disease. Taking -advantage of this fact, the Sand-sharkers had grown bold, some of the -more venturesome of them going even so far as to challenge Billy to -"knock the chip off their shoulders." - -Billy had not only accommodated the trouble-seekers in this regard -but had nearly knocked the noses off their freckled faces as well, -after which he had proceeded to lick, on sight, each and every -Sand-sharker with whom his lonely rambles brought him in contact. -But his victories lacked the old time zest. He missed Maurice's -"Gee! Bill, that left swing to his eye was a corker"; missed Elgin's -offer to bet a thousand dollars that Billy Wilson could lick, with -one hand tied behind him, any two Sand-sharkers that ever smelled a -smoked herrin'. Victory was indeed empty of glory. And so the glad -days were sad days for Billy. It was an empty world. What boy in -Billy's place would not have been low-spirited under like conditions? -What boy would not have paused, as he was doing now, to itemize his -woes? - -He was seated on a stump in the new clearing which sloped to Levee -Creek, fingers locked about one knee, battered felt hat pulled over -his eyes. The green slope at his feet lay half in the sunlight, half -in the shadow. Across from a patch of golden-rod, the cock bird of a -fox-scattered quail-covey whistled the "All's Well" call to the birds -in hiding. Ordinarily Billy would have answered that call, would -have drawn the brown, scuttling birds close about him with the -low-whistled notes he could produce so well: but today he was -oblivious to all save his thoughts. - -Two weeks had passed since the robbery of the Twin Oaks store and -that which he and Maurice had planned to do towards finding the -Scroggie will and capturing the thieves had, through dire necessity, -been abandoned. Sickness had claimed Maurice just when he was most -needed. For days Billy had lived a sort of trancelike existence; had -gone about acting queerly, refusing his meals and paying little -attention to anybody or anything. - -It had become a regular thing for his father to say each morning, "I -guess you ain't feelin' up to much today, Billy; so all you have to -do is watch the gap and water the cattle"; which was quite agreeable -to Billy, because it gave him an opportunity to be by himself. Men -who sit in the shadow of irrevocable fate are always that way; they -want to be left alone--murderers on the eve of their execution, -captains on wrecked ships, Trigger Finger Tim, who was to be shot at -sunrise, but wasn't. - -Billy wanted to shadow old Scroggie's ghost and so discover the will; -he wanted to seek out the robbers of the Twin Oaks store and earn a -reward; he wanted Maurice Keeler with him; he wanted to hear Elgin -Scraff's laugh. But all this was denied him. And now a new burden -had been thrust upon him, compared with which all his other woes -seemed trivial. Old Scroggie's namesake and apparent heir had turned -up again. Billy had seen him with his own eyes; with his own ears -had heard him declare that he intended to erect a saw-mill in the -thousand-acre forest. This meant that the big hardwood wonderland -would be wiped away and that Frank Stanhope would never inherit what -was rightfully his. - -It seemed like an evil dream, but Billy knew it was no dream. -Scroggie, astride a big bay horse, had passed him while he was on his -way to the store with a basket of eggs for his mother, and he had -pulled in at the store just as Deacon Ringold had taken the last -available space on the customers' bench outside, and Caleb Spencer -had come to the door to peer through the twilight in search of the -Clearview stage, which was late. Noticing the stranger on horseback -Caleb had hurried forward to ask how best he could serve him. - -Hidden safely behind a clump of cedars Billy had watched and -listened. He had heard Scroggie tell the storekeeper that he and his -family had come to Scotia to stay and that he intended to cut down -the timber of the big woods. He had then demanded that Spencer turn -over to him a certain document which it seemed old man Scroggie had -left in Caleb's charge some months before his death. Billy had seen -Spencer draw the man a little apart from the others, who had gathered -close through curiosity, and had heard him explain that the paper had -been taken from his safe on the night of the robbery of his store. -Scroggie had, at first, seemed to doubt Caleb's word; then he had -grown abusive and had raised his riding-whip threateningly. Here -Billy, having heard and seen quite enough, had acted. Placing his -basket gently down on the sward he had picked up an egg and with the -accuracy born of long practice in throwing stones, had sent it -crashing into Scroggie's face. Gasping and temporarily blinded, -Scroggie had wheeled his horse and galloped away. - -But today Billy, musing darkly, knew that Scroggie would do what he -had said he would do. The big woods was his, according to law; he -could do as he wished with it, and he would wipe it out. - -With a sigh, Billy slid from the stump and stood looking away toward -the east. What would Trigger Finger Tim do in his place? When -confronted by insurmountable obstacles Trigger Finger had been wont -to seek excitement and danger. That's what he, Billy, would do now. -But where was excitement and danger to be found? Ah, he knew--Lost -Man's Swamp! - -Billy's right hand went into a trouser's pocket; then nervously his -left dived into the other pocket. With a sigh of relief he drew out -a furry object about the size of a pocket-knife. - -"Ol' Rabbit-foot charm," he said, aloud. "I jest might need you bad -today." Then he turned and walked quickly across the fallow toward -the causeway. - -Some three miles east of the imaginary line which divided the -Settlement from the outside world, on the Lake Shore road, stood a -big frame house in a grove of tall walnut trees. It was the home of -a man named Hinter--a man of mystery. Before it the lake flashed -blue as a kingfisher's wing through the cedars; behind it swept a -tangle of forest which gradually dwarfed into a stretch of -swamp-willow and wild hazel-nut bushes, which in turn gave place to -marshy bog-lands. - -Lost Man's Swamp, so called because it was said that one straying -into its depths never was able to extricate himself from its -overpowering mists and treacherous quicksands, was lonely and -forsaken. It lay like a festering sore on the breast of the -world--black, menacing, hungry to gulp, dumb as to those mysteries -and tragedies it had witnessed. It was whispered that the devil made -his home in its pitchy ponds, which even in the fiercest cold of -winter did not freeze. - -For Billy, who knew and understood so well the sweeping wilderness of -silence and mysteries, this swamp held a dread which, try as he -might, he could not analyze. On one other occasion had he striven to -penetrate it, but as if the bogland recognized in him a force not -easily set aside, it had enwrapped him with its deadly mists which -chilled and weakened, torn his flesh with its razor-edged grass and -sucked at his feet with its oozy, dragging quicksands. He had turned -back in time. For two weeks following his exploit he had lain ill -with ague, shivering miserably, silent, but thinking. - -And now he was back again; and this time he did not intend to risk -his life in those sucking sands. From a couple of dead saplings, -with the aid of wild grape-vines, he fashioned a light raft which -would serve as a support in the bog, and carry his weight in the -putrid mire beyond. Strange sounds came to his ears as he worked his -way across the desolate waste toward the first great pond--scurrying, -rustling sounds of hidden things aroused from their security. Once a -big grey snake stirred from torpor to lift its head and hiss at him. -Billy lifted it aside with his pole and went on. - -Great mosquitoes whined about his head and stung his neck and ears. -Mottled flies bit him and left a burning smart. The saw-like edges -of the grass cut his hands and strove to trip him as he pushed his -improvised raft forward. Once his foot slipped on the greasy bog, -and the quicksands all but claimed him. But he pushed on, reaching -at last the black sullen shallows, putrid and ill-smelling with -decayed growth, and alive with hideous insects. - -Great, black leeches clung to the slimy lily-roots; water lizards lay -basking half in and half out of the water, or crept furtively from -under-water grotto to grotto. And there were other things which -Billy knew were hidden from his sight--things even more loathsome. -For the first time in his life he experienced for Nature a feeling -akin to dread and loathing. It was like a nightmare to him, -menacing, unreal, freighted with strange horrors. - -One thing Billy saw which he could not understand. The greasy -surface of the shallow pond was never still, but bubbled incessantly -as porridge puffs and bubbles when it boils. It was as if the slimy -creatures buried in the oozy bottom belched forth their poisonous -breath as they stirred in sleep. - -So here lay the reason that the swamp-waters never froze even when -winter locked all other waters fast in its icy clutch! What caused -those air bubbles, if air bubbles they were? - -At last, sick and dizzy, he turned from the place and with raft and -pole fought his way back to the shore. Never again, he told himself, -would he try to fathom further what lay in Lost Man's Swamp. Weary -and perspiring, he climbed the wooded upland. He turned and dipped -into the willows, intending to take the shortest way home through the -hardwoods. On top of the beech knoll he paused for a moment to let -his eyes rest on the big house in the walnut grove. In some vague -way his mind connected its owner with that dead waste of stinking -marsh. Why, he wondered, had Hinter chosen this lonely spot on which -to build his home? As he turned to strike across the neck of woods -between him and the causeway the man about whom he had just been -thinking stepped out from a clump of hazel-nut bushes directly in his -path. - -"Why, hello, Billy," he said pleasantly. "Out capturing more wild -things for the menagerie?" - -Hinter possessed a well modulated voice whose accent bespoke -refinement and education. He had come into the Settlement about a -year ago from no one knew where, apparently possessed of sufficient -money to do as he pleased. An aged colored woman kept house for him. -He held aloof from his neighbors, was reticent in manner, but nothing -could be said against him. He led an exemplary if somewhat secluded -life, gave freely to the church which he never attended, and was -respected by the people of Scotia. With the children he was a great -favorite. He was a tall man, gaunt and strong of frame and well past -middle age. His face was grave and his blue eyes steady. He was -fond of hunting and usually wore--as he was wearing today--a suit of -corduroys. He kept a pair of ferocious dogs, why nobody knew, for -they never accompanied him on his hunts. - -He smiled now as he noted Billy's quick look of apprehension. - -"No, Billy," he assured the boy, "Sphinx and Dexter aren't with me -today, so you have nothing to fear from them. I doubt if they would -hurt you, anyway," he added. "You can handle most dogs, I am told." - -"I'm not afraid of no dog, Mr. Hinter," said Billy, "but I've been -told your dogs are half wolf. Is that so?" - -Hinter laughed. "Well, hardly," he returned. "They are thoroughbred -Great Danes, although Sphinx and Dexter both have wolf natures, I -fear." - -"Is that why people don't go near your place, 'cause they're scared -of the dogs?" Billy asked. - -Hinter's face grew grave. "Perhaps," he answered. "I hope it is." - -"Then why don't you get rid of 'em?" - -Hinter shook his head. "Nobody would have them, they're too savage; -and I haven't the heart to make away with them, because they are fond -of me. I've had those dogs a long time, Billy." - -"I understan'," said Billy, sympathetically. - -Hinter put his hand in his coat pocket and drew out an ivory -dog-whistle. "Would you like to know them, Billy?" he asked, his -keen eyes on the boy's face. - -"I wouldn't mind," said Billy. - -Hinter put the whistle to his lips and sent a warbling call through -the woods. "Stand perfectly still," he said, as he placed the -whistle back in his pocket. "I won't let them hurt you. Here they -come now." - -The next instant two great dogs plunged from the thicket, their heavy -jaws open and dripping and their deep eyes searching for their master -and the reason for his call. - -Standing with feet planted wide Billy felt his heart beat quickly. -"Easy, Sphinx!" Hinter cried, as the larger of the two sprang toward -the boy. Immediately the dog sank down, the personification of -submission; but its bloodshot eyes flashed up at Billy and in them -the boy glimpsed a spirit unquelled. - -"Be careful, Billy. Don't touch him!" warned Hinter, but he spoke -too late. Billy had bent and laid his hand gently on the dog's -quivering back. The low growl died in the animal's throat. Slowly -his heavy muzzle was lifted until his nose touched Billy's cheek. -Then his long flail-like tail began to wag. - -"Boy, you're a wonder!" Hinter cried. "But you took a terrible -chance. Dexter!" he said to the other dog, "don't you want to be -friends with this wild-animal tamer, too?" - -Billy, his arm about Sphinx's neck, spoke. "Come, ol' feller; come -here," he said. - -The great dog rose and came slowly across to him. "Good boy!" Billy -slapped him roughly on the shoulder, and he whined. - -"Well, it's beyond me," confessed Hinter. "I've heard that you could -handle dogs, young fellow, but I didn't think there was anybody in -the world besides myself who could bring a whimper of gladness from -that pair. Now then, Dexter! Sphinx! away home with you." -Obediently the big dogs wheeled back into the thicket. - -Billy started to move away. "I must be gettin' home," he said. "The -cows'll be waitin' to be watered." - -"Well, I'll just walk along with you as far as the Causeway," said -Hinter. "My saddle-horse has wandered off somewhere. I have an idea -he made for Ringold's slashing." - -He fell in beside Billy, adjusting his stride to the shorter one of -the boy. In silence they walked until they reached a rise of land -which had been cleared of all varieties of trees except maples. -Sap-suckers twittered as they hung head downward and red squirrels -chattered shrilly. In a cleared spot in the wood, beside a -spring-fed creek, stood a sugar-shanty, two great cauldrons, upside -down, gleaming like black eyes from its shadowy interior. A pile of -wooden sap-troughs stood just outside the shanty door. - -Billy's eyes brightened as they swept the big sugar-bush. Many a -spicy spring night had he enjoyed here, "sugarin' off"--he and -Teacher Stanhope. The brightness faded from his eyes and his lip -quivered. Never again would the man who was boy-friend to him point -out the frost-cleared stars that swam low down above the maples and -describe to him their wonders. Those stars were shut out from him -forever, as were the tints of skies and flowers and all glad lights -of the world. - -Hinter's voice brought him back to himself. "He is blind, they tell -me, Billy." - -Billy gazed at him wonderingly. "How did you know I was thinkin' of -_him_?" he asked. - -Hinter smiled. "Never mind," he said gently. "And how is he -standing it?" - -A spasm of pain crossed the boy's face. "Like a man," he answered -shortly. - -Hinter's eyes fell away from that steady gaze. Billy turned towards -the log-span across the creek, then paused to ask suddenly: "Mr. -Hinter, who owns that Lost Man's Swamp? Do you?" - -The man started. "No," he answered, "I don't own it exactly, but I -hope to soon. It is part of the Scroggie property. I am negotiating -now with Scroggie's heir for it. It is useless, of course, but I -desire to own it for reasons known only to myself." - -"But supposin' ol' Scroggie's lost will comes to light?" - -"Then, of course, it will divert to Mr. Stanhope," answered Hinter. -"I must confess," he added, "I doubt very strongly if Mr. Scroggie -ever made a will." - -Billy was silent, busy with his own thoughts. They crossed the -bridge, passed through a beech ridge and descended a mossy slope to -the Causeway fence. As they sat for a moment's rest on its topmost -rail, Hinter spoke abruptly. "I saw you fighting your way across the -swamp this afternoon, Billy. Weren't you taking a useless risk?" - -Billy made no reply. - -"You are either a very brave boy or a very foolish one," said Hinter. -"Will you tell me what prompted you to dare what no other person in -the Settlement would dare! Was it simply curiosity?" - -"I guess maybe it was," Billy confessed. "Anyways I've got all I -want of it. It'll be a long time afore you see me there ag'in." - -Hinter's sigh of relief was inaudible to the boy. "That's a good -resolve," he commended. "Stick to it; that swamp is a treacherous -place." - -"It's awful," said Billy in awed tones. "I got as far as the first -pond. It was far enough for me." - -"You got as far as the pond!" Hinter cried in wonder. The eyes -turned on Billy's face were searching. "And you found only a long -shallow of stagnant, stinking water, I'll be bound," he laughed, -uneasily. - -"I found--" Billy commenced, his mind flashing back to the bubbling -geysers of the pond--then chancing to catch the expression in -Hinter's face he finished, "jest what you said, a big pond of -stinkin' dead water, crawlin' with all kinds of blood-suckers an' -things." - -He leaped from the fence. "Good bye," he called back over his -shoulder. "I hear old Cherry bawlin' fer her drink." - -Hinter was still seated on the fence when Billy turned the curve in -the road. "I wonder what he wants of Lost Man's Swamp," mused the -boy. "An' I wonder what he's scared somebody'll find there?" - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -EDUCATING THE NEW BOY - -As Billy rounded a curve in the road he met the cattle. Anson was -driving them. "You needn't mind turnin' back, Bill," he said. "I -don't mind waterin' 'em fer you." - -Billy whistled. "Gosh! you're gettin' kind all at once, Anse," he -exclaimed. - -"I don't mind doin' it," Anse repeated. He kept his face averted. -Billy, scenting mystery, walked over to him and swung him about. -Anson's lip was swollen and one eye was partly closed and his -freckled face bore the marks of recent conflict. - -"Gee whitticker!" gasped Billy, "you must been havin' an argument -with a mule. Who give you that black eye an' split lip, Anse?" - -His brother hung his head. "You needn't go to rubbin' it in," he -whined; "I didn't have no chance with him. He piled on me from -behind, when I wasn't lookin'." - -"Who piled on you from behind?" - -"That new boy; his name's Jim Scroggie. His dad's rented the Stanley -house on the hill." - -"Likely story that about his pilin' on you from behind," scoffed -Billy. "You met him on the path an' tried to get gay with him, more -like, an' he pasted you a few. You shouldn't hunt trouble, Anse; you -can't fight, an' you know it. What's this new boy like?" he asked -curiously. - -"Oh, you'll find that out soon enough," promised Anson. "He told me -to tell you that he would do the same thing to you first chance he -got." - -"Oh, no, he didn't neither," laughed Billy. "He can't be that -foolish." - -"You wait till you size him up," said Anson. "He's taller'n you are -an' heavier, too. Oh, you'll have your hands full when he tackles -you, Mister Scrapper-Bill." - -Billy pinched off a fox-tail stock and chewed it thoughtfully. -"Maybe," he said, cheerfully. "He certainly tapped you some, but -then you're always huntin' trouble, an' it serves you right." - -"Listen to me!" Anson cried. "He made all the trouble, I tell you. -All I did was tell him not to throw clubs at Ringdo--" - -"What! Was he throwin' clubs at my coon?" Billy shouted. - -"You bet he was. Had Ringdo up a tree an' was doin' his best to -knock him out." - -Billy spit out the fox-tail. "Where's this feller Scroggie now?" he -asked, in a business-like tone. - -"I dunno. I s'pose he's prowlin' 'round the beech grove, up there. -He said he intended lickin' every boy in this settlement on sight. -You best not go lookin' fer him, Bill. I don't want'a see you get -beat up on my account." - -"Well you needn't worry; if I get beat up it won't be on your -account, I kin tell you that. I don't aim to let anybody throw clubs -at my pets, though. You drive the cattle on down; I'm goin' up to -the grove." - -A gleam of satisfaction lit Anson's shifty eyes. "All right," he -said shortly, and went off after the herd. - -Billy climbed the rail fence and crossed the basswood swale to the -highland. He approached the beech grove cautiously and peered about -him. Seated on a log at the lower end of a grassy glade was a boy -about his own age, a boy with round, bullet head poised on a thick -neck set between square shoulders. - -Billy, taking his measure with one fleeting glance, stepped out from -the trees. Simultaneously the strange boy rose slowly, head lowered, -fists clenched. There was nothing antagonistic in Billy's attitude -as he surveyed the new boy with serious grey eyes. That expression -had fooled more than one competitor in fistic combat, and it fooled -Jim Scroggie now. "He's scared stiff," was the new boy's thought, as -he swaggered forward to where Billy stood. - -"I've been waitin' for you and now I'm goin' to lick you," he said. - -Billy eyed him appraisingly. He did look like a tough proposition, -no doubt about that. His face was round, flat, small-featured. -"That face'll stand a lot of pummelin'," Billy told himself, and as -he noted the heavy chin, thrust antagonistically forward, "no use -bruisin' my knuckles on that," he decided. - -"You heard what I said, didn't you?" growled the challenger. "I'm -goin' to lick you." - -Billy grinned. He had caught the gasp at the end of the speaker's -words; _now_ he knew where lay the stranger's weak spot--_his wind_! - -"But I ain't wantin' to fight," Billy returned gently. - -"Why? scared?" - -"Nice boys don't fight." Billy shifted his feet uneasily, the -movement bringing him a step or two closer to the other. - -"Bah! mommie's baby boy won't fight?" taunted the eager one. "But by -gollies! I'm goin' to make you," he added, scowling fiercely. - -Billy wanted to laugh, but he was too good a ring-general to give way -to his feelings. Instead, he shifted his feet again, thereby getting -within reaching distance of the one so anxious for battle. - -"Now, then," declared Scroggie, tossing his hat on the sward and -drying his moist palms on his trouser-legs, "I'm goin' to black your -eyes and pummel the nose off your face." - -The last word was drowned in a resounding "smack." Billy had -delivered one of his lightning, straight-arm punches fair on the -sneering lips of the new boy. Scroggie staggered back, recovered his -balance, and threw himself on the defensive in time to block Billy's -well-aimed right to the neck. - -"So that's your game, is it?" he grunted. "Here's a new one for you -then." That "new one" was a veritable "hay-maker." Had it landed -where it was intended to land the fight must have ended then and -there. But it didn't. Billy saw it coming and ducked. - -Scroggie rushed, managing to get in a stiff jab to Billy's body and -receiving in return one which promptly closed one of his small -optics. He struck out wildly, but Billy was prancing six feet away. -Scroggie's swollen and bleeding mouth twisted in a grin. "Oh, I'll -get you," he promised. "Stall if you want'a, it's all one to me. -You won't find me sleepin' again, I promise you." - -Billy advanced in a crouching attitude. His eyes were on Scroggie's -uninjured eye and Scroggie, now grown wary, read that look as Billy -intended he should. Older fighters have made the same mistake that -Scroggie made. As Billy leaped in Scroggie raised his guard to his -face and Billy's right and left thudded home to the flabby stomach of -his adversary. - -With a gasp Scroggie went to earth, where he lay writhing. After a -time he struggled to a sitting posture. - -"Got enough?" asked Billy pleasantly. - -The vanquished one nodded. He had not as yet recovered his breath -sufficiently to speak. When at last he was able to draw a full -breath, he said: "Say, you trimmed me all right, all right." - -Billy grinned. - -"Who are you, anyway?" asked Scroggie as he got groggily to his feet. - -"I'm the feller that owns the coon you tried to club to death," Billy -answered. - -Scroggie's mouth fell open in surprise. "I didn't try to kill any -coon," he denied. "I saw one but it wasn't me that clubbed it; it -was a tall, sandy-haired feller with a squint eye. I asked him what -he was tryin' to do and he told me to dry up and mind my own -business. I had to give him a lickin'. He went off blubberin'; said -if I wasn't too scared to stick around he'd send a feller over who -would fix me. So I stayed." - -"I wish you had licked him harder 'n you did," frowned Billy. - -"Know him?" - -"Well, I do--an' I don't. He's my half-brother an' a sneak if ever -there was one. He lied about you to me--so's I'd fight you." - -"And what's your name?" - -"Billy Wilson." - -Scroggie stared. "I've heard of you," he said, "an' the feller who -told me you could lick your weight in wildcats wasn't far wrong. You -had me fooled, though," he laughed. "I swallowed what you said about -nice boys not fightin', swallowed it whole. Oh, Moses!" - -Billy sat down on a stump. "I don't bear no grudge, do you?" he -asked. - -"No, I'm willin' to shake." Scroggie extended his hand. - -"Your name's Scroggie, ain't it?" Billy asked. - -"Yep, Jim Scroggie." - -"Your Dad's goin' to cut down the Scroggie woods, I hear?" - -"Yep, if he can get his price for the timber." - -Billy sat looking away. His grey eyes had grown somber. "See here," -he said suddenly, "do you know that old man Scroggie left a will?" - -"Dad says not," the other boy replied. - -"Well, then, he did; an' in that will he left his woods an' money to -Mr. Stanhope, my teacher." - -"If that's so, Dad has no right to that woods," said Jim. - -"But supposin' the will can't be found?" Billy looked the other boy -in the face and waited for the answer. - -"Why, I can't see that that ought'a make any difference," Scroggie -replied. "If you folks down here know that Uncle left his money and -place to your teacher, that ought'a be enough for Dad." - -"Of course the timber's worth a lot," sparred Billy. - -"But Dad don't need it," Jim declared. "He's rich now." - -"He is?" Billy respected the new boy for the nonchalance of his -tones. Riches hadn't made him stuck up, at any rate. - -"Yep," went on Scroggie, "Dad owns some big oil wells in the States. -He ain't got any business down here anyways, but he's so pig-headed -you can't tell him anythin'; I'll say that much, even if he is my -father. It's bad enough for him to lug me away from town, but he -made Lou come along, too." - -"Lou?" - -"She's my sister," Jim explained proudly. "She's a year younger'n -me. Dad says she looks just like Mother looked. I guess that's the -reason she kin do most anythin' she likes with him. But she couldn't -get him to let her stay in Cleveland. He brought her along and Aunt -too. Aunt keeps house for us." - -"I guess your Dad don't think much of us folks down here, does he?" -Billy asked. - -Scroggie chuckled. "Dad ain't got any use for anybody, much," he -answered. "I never heard him say anythin' about any of the people of -the Settlement but once, and that was just t'other night. He come -home lookin' as if somebody had pushed his head into a crate of eggs. -I was too scared to ask him how it happened and Lou wouldn't. Dad -said the people 'round here are a bad lot and it wouldn't surprise -him if they tried to kill him." - -Billy threw back his head and laughed, the first hearty laugh he had -known for days. Scroggie, in spite of the pain his swollen lips -caused him, laughed too. - -"Say," he remarked, hesitatingly, "you got a great laugh, Billy." - -"Oh I don't know," Billy replied. "What makes you think so, Jim?" -Scroggie sat down beside him on the log. "I had a chum in the city -who laughed just like you do. Gosh, nobody'll know how much I miss -him." - -"Dead?" - -Scroggie nodded. "Drowned through an air-hole in the lake. Say, -Billy, do you skate?" - -"Some." - -"Swim?" - -"A little." - -"Shoot?" - -Billy scratched his head reflectively. "Not much, any more," he -said. "Course I like duck-shootin', an' do quite a lot of it in the -fall." - -"How 'bout quail?" - -"I don't shoot quail any more," Billy answered. "I've got to know -'em too well, I guess. You see," in answer to the other boy's look -of surprise, "when a feller gets to know what chummy, friendly little -beggars they are, he don't feel like shootin' 'em." - -"But they're wild, ain't they and they're game birds?" - -"They're wild if you make 'em wild, but if they get to know that you -like 'em an' won't hurt 'em, they get real tame. I've got one flock -I call my own. I fed 'em last winter when the snow was so deep they -couldn't pick up a livin'. They used to come right into our -barn-yard for the tailin's I throwed out to 'em." - -"What's tailin's?" - -"It's the chaff and small wheat the fannin' mill blows out from the -good grain. Pa lets me have it fer my wild birds. I've got some -partridge up on the hickory knoll, too. They're shyer than the -quail, but I've got 'em so tame I kin call 'em and make 'em come to -me." - -"You kin?" Jim exclaimed. "Well, I'll be razzle-dazzled!" - -"So, I don't shoot partridge neither," said Billy. "I don't blame -anybody else fer shootin' 'em, remember, but somehow, I'd rather -leave 'em alive." - -"I see," said Scroggie. Of course he didn't, but he wanted to make -Billy feel that he did. - -"Well you do more than most people, then," said Billy. "The folks -'round here think I'm crazy, I guess, an' Joe Scraff--he's got an -English setter dog an' shoots a lot; he told me that if he happened -onto my quail an' partridge he'd bag as many of 'em as he could. I -told him that if he shot my birds, he'd better watch out fer his -white Leghorn chickens but he laughed at me." - -"And did he shoot your quail?" asked Scroggie. - -Billy nodded. "Once. Flushed 'em at the top of the knoll and winged -one bird. The rest of the covey flew into our barn-yard an' 'course -he couldn't foller 'em in there." - -"Gillies! Did you see him?" - -"No, me an' Pa an' Anse was down at the back end of the place. Ma -saw him, though, an' she told me all about it. Say, maybe I wasn't -mad, but I got even, all right." - -"Did you? How?" - -Billy looked searchingly at his new friend. "I never told a soul how -I did it, 'cept my chum, Maurice Keeler," he said. "But I'll tell -you. That same evenin' I was prowlin' through the slashin' lookin' -fer white grubs fer bass-bait. I found a big rotten stump, so I -pushed it over, an' right down under the roots I found an old weasel -an' six half-grown kittens. Afore she could get over her surprise, I -had her an' her family in the tin pail I had with me, an' the cover -on. By rights I should'a killed the whole caboodle of 'em, I s'pose, -'cause they're mighty hard on the birds; but I had work fer 'em to do. - -"That night I took them weasels over to Scraff's an' turned 'em loose -under his barn. I knowed mighty well ma weasel would stay where it -was dark an' safe and the chicken smell was so strong. Couple of -days after that Scraff come over to our place to borrow some rat -traps. His face was so long he was fair steppin' on his lower lip. -He said weasels had been slaughterin' his Leghorns, right an' left; -six first night an' nine the next. - -"'I hope they won't get among my quail,' I says, an' Scraff he turned -round an' looked at me mighty hard, but he didn't say nuthin'. He -went away, grumblin', an' carryin' six of Dad's traps. Course I -knowed he couldn't catch a weasel in a trap in twenty years an' he -didn't catch any either. Ma weasel killed some more of his Leghorns, -an' then Scraff he comes to me. 'Billy,' he says, 'is there any way -to get rid of weasels?' 'Sure there's a way,' I says, 'but not -everybody knows it.' - -"'I'll give you five dollars if you'll catch them weasels that are -killin' my chickens,' he says. - -"'If you'll promise me you'll stay away from my quail an' partridge -I'll catch 'em fer nuthin,' I told him. 'Only,' I says, 'remember, I -do what I please with 'em, after I get 'em.' He looked at me as -though he'd like to choke me, but he said all right, he'd leave my -birds alone. - -"That night Maurice Keeler an' me went over to Gamble's an' borrowed -his old ferret. He's a big ferret an' he'll tackle anythin', even a -skunk. With some keg-hoops an' a canvas sack we had made what we -needed to catch the weasels in. Then we put a muzzle on the ferret, -so he couldn't fang-cut the weasels, an' we went over to Scraff's. -As soon as Joe Scraff saw the ferret he began to see light an' turned -into the house to get his shotgun. I told him to remember his -promise to let me get the weasels alive, so he set on the fence an' -watched while we got busy. - -"First off we plugged every hole under that barn but two, an' at each -of these two we set a hoop-net. Then we turned ol' Lucifer, the -ferret, loose under the barn. Holy Smoke! afore we knowed it there -was high jinks goin' on tinder there. Maurice had hold of one hoop -an' me the other. It took ma weasel an' her boys an' girls 'bout -half a minute to make up their minds that ol' Lucifer wasn't payin' -'em a friendly visit. When the big scramble was over, I had a bagful -of weasels an' so did Maurice. We let Lucifer prowl round a little -longer to make sure we had all of 'em, then I called him out. I made -Scraff give us one of his hens to feed the ferret on. Then Maurice -an' me started off. - -"'You think you got all of 'em, Bill?" Scraff called. - -"'All this time,' I says, an' to save my life I couldn't help -laughin' at the look on his face. He knowed right then that I had -put up a job on him but he couldn't figure out how." - -"Oh Hully Gee!" yelled Jim Scroggie, "Wasn't that corkin'--Oh Mommer! -An' what did you an' Maurice do with the weasels?" - -Billy grinned sheepishly. "We should'a killed 'em, I s'pose," he -said, "but we took 'em down to the marsh an' turned 'em loose there. -Maurice said that anythin' that had done the good work them weasels -had, deserved life, an' I thought so too." - -The twilight shadows were beginning to steal across the glade; the -golden-rod of the uplands massed into indistinguishable clumps. The -silence of eventide fell soft and sweet and songless--that breathless -space between the forest day and darkness. - -Billy stood up. "You'll like it here," he said to the other boy who -was watching him, a strange wonder in his eyes. "After you know it -better," he added. - -"I'm afraid I don't fit very well yet," Scroggie answered. "Maybe -you'll let me trail along with you sometimes, Bill, and learn things?" - -"We'll see," said Billy and without another word turned to the dim -pathway among the trees. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -OLD HARRY MAKES A FIND - -Through the dusky twilight, soft with woodland dews and sweet with -odor of ferns and wild flowers, Billy walked slowly. For the first -time in long days his heart felt at peace. The canker of loneliness -that had gnawed at his spirit was there no longer. It was a pretty -good old world after all. - -A whip-poor-will lilted its low call from a hazel copse and Billy -answered it. A feeling that he wanted to visit his wild things in -the upland shanty and explain to them his seeming neglect of them -during his time of stress took possession of him. So, although he -knew supper would be ready and waiting at home, he branched off where -the path forked and hurried forward toward the oak ridge. - -It was almost dark when he reached the little log sugar-shanty which -housed his pets. He had hidden a lantern in a hollow log against -such night visits as this and he paused to draw it out and light it -before proceeding to the menagerie. As he rounded the shanty, -whistling softly, and anticipating how glad Spotba, Moper, the owl, -and all the other wild inmates would be to see him, he paused -suddenly, and the whistle died on his lips. Somebody had been -snooping about his menagerie! The prop had been taken from the door. - -His mind traveled at once to Anse. So that meddler had been here and -tried to let his pets free, had he? Apparently the chump didn't know -they each had a separate cage, or if he did he hadn't the nerve to -open it. Well, it meant that Anse had that much more to settle for -with him, that was all! - -Billy put his hand on the latch of the door, then stood, frozen into -inaction. From the interior of the shanty had come a groan--a human -groan! Billy almost dropped the lantern. A cold shiver ran down his -spine. His mind flashed to Old Scroggie's ghost. The hand that -groped into his pocket in search of the rabbit-foot charm trembled so -it could scarcely clasp that cherished object. - -What would Trigger Finger do if placed in his position? Billy asked -himself. There was only one answer to that. He took a long breath -and, picking up a heavy club, swung the door open. The feeble rays -of the lantern probed the gloom and something animate, between the -cages, stirred and sat up. - -"Harry!" gasped Billy, "Harry O'Dule!" - -"Ha," cried a quavering voice, "and is ut the Prince av Darkness, -himself, as spakes t' me? Thin it's no fit av the delirium tremens -I've had at all, at all, but dead I am and in purgatory! Oh weary -me, oh weary me! Such shnakes and evil eyed burruds have I never -seen before. Och! could I be given wan taste av God's blissid air -and sunshine ag'in, and never more would whiskey pass me lips." - -Spotba, the big mottled marsh snake, sensing Billy's presence, -uncoiled himself and raised his head along the screen of his cage; -the brown owl hooted a low welcome that died in a hiss as Harry -groaned again. - -"Merciful hivin! look at the eyes av that awful burrud," he wailed. -"And that big shnake hissin' his poison in me very face. Take me -along, Divil, take me along," he screamed. "It's no more av this I -kin stand at all, at all." - -Billy hung the lantern on the door and bent above the grovelling -Harry. "Hey you," he said, giving the old man's shoulder a shake, -"get up an' come out'a here; I'm not the devil, I'm Billy." - -"Billy," Harry held his breath and blinked his red-rimmed eyes in -unbelief. "Billy, ye say?" He got up with Billy's help and stood -swaying unsteadily. - -"You're drunk again!" said the boy, in deep disgust. - -Harry wiped his lips on his sleeve and stood gazing fearfully about -him. "Do you see the shnakes and the evil-eyed burruds, Billy Bye?" -he shuddered. "It's see 'em ye shurely can and hear their divil -hisses." His fingers gripped the boy's arm. - -Billy shook him off. "Look here, Harry," he said, "You're seein' -things. There ain't no snakes in here--no birds neither. You come -along outside with me." He grasped the Irishman by the arm and -started toward the door. - -"Me jug," whispered Harry. "Where is that divil's halter av a jug, -Billy?" - -"There's your jug on its side," Billy touched the jug with his foot. -"You must've drunk it empty, Harry." - -"Faith, an' I did not. But ut's all the same, impty or full. Niver -ag'in will ut lead me into delirium tremens, I promise ye that, -although it's meself that knows where there's a plinty of whisky, so -I do." - -Billy led him outside and turned the light of the lantern full on his -face. "Harry," he said, sternly, "where are you gettin' all this -whisky?" - -The old man started. "That's me own business," he answered shortly. - -"Oh." Billy took hold of his arm, "Then them snakes an' man-eatin' -birds you've been seein' are your own business, too; an' since you've -been ninny enough to stray into this shanty, I'm goin' to put you -back in it an' see that you stay in it." - -"And fer God's sake, why?" gasped the frightened O'Dule. - -"That's my business," said Billy. - -Harry glanced behind him with a shudder. "God love you fer a good -lad, Billy," he cried; "but this is no way to trate an ould frind, is -ut now?" - -"Then you best tell me where you're gettin' the whisky," said Billy. - -"But that's shure the ould man's secret, Billy," pleaded Harry. -"It's not a foine chap as ye are would be wheedlin' it out av me, -now?" - -Billy frowned. "I know that Spencer won't give you any more whisky," -he said, "an' I know the deacon won't give you any more cider. I -know that you've gettin' liquor some place--an' without payin' fer -it. Now you kin tell me where, er you kin stay in that shanty an' -see snakes an' things all night." - -Harry wavered. "And if I be tellin' ye," he compromised, "ye'll be -givin' a promise not to pass it along, thin? Wull ye now?" - -"Yes I promise not to tell anybody but Maurice?" - -"Then I'll be tellin' ye where I do be gettin' the whisky, Billy; -_where else but in the ha'nted house_." - -"What?" Billy could scarcely believe his ears. - -"May I niver glimpse the blissid blue av Ireland's skies ag'in, if I -spake a lie," said Harry, earnestly. "In the ha'nted house I found -ut, Billy. Wait now, and I tell ye how ut so happened. Ye'll be -rememberin' that night we tried to wait fer ould Scroggie's ghost an' -the terrible storm come on and split us asunder wid a flash av blue -lightnin'? I was crossin' meself in thankfulness that ut found the -big elm instead av me, I was, whin I dropped me fairy charm, d'ye -moind? Stay and seek fer ut I would not, wid all the powers av -darkness conspirin' wid ould Scroggie ag'in me. Ut's fly I did on -the wings av terror to me own cabin, an' covered up me head wid the -bed-quilt, I did." - -"Well, go on. What's all this got to do with whisky?" - -"Jest you wait a bit and you'll find that out. Nixt day I go down -there ag'in to look fer me charm, but find ut I did not. Then wid me -little jug in me hand and me whistle in me bosom, did I strike across -woods to the Twin Oaks store, there to learn av the robbery. A -little bit av drink did I get from Spencer, an' takin' ut home was I -when an accident I had, an' spilled ut. Well, ut was afther several -days av hard toil, wid not so much as a drop left in me little jug, -that one mornin' as I was cuttin' through the lower valley fer -Thompson's tater-patch, that come to me ut did I'd search a bit fer -me lost charm ag'in. - -"Ut was while pokin' about I was among the twigs on the ground, -whisperin' a bit av witch-talk that belongs to me charm, that I -discovered human foot-prints in the earth av the hollow. This I -would not have thought strange a'tall a'tall, but the foot prints led -right into the ha'nted grove. 'Begobs,' thinks I, 'no ghost iver -wore boots the size av them now!' On me hands and knees I crawled -forrard an' right in the edge av the grove I glimpsed somethin', I -did, beneath the ferns, somethin' that sparkled in the mornin' light -like a bit av star-dust on the edge av a cloud. Thinkin' only av me -blessid charm, I crawled further in, and phwat do you suppose I -picked up, Billy Bye? A bottle ut was, an' almost full av prime -liquor. - -"Sit I there, wid God's sunlight caressin' me bare head and his -burruds trillin' their joy at me good luck--and dhrink I did. It's a -mercy ut was but a small bottle, else I might have taken it back to -me cabin to be finished at leisure. Instead, whin ut was all dhrunk -up, I found widin me the courage to proceed further into the ha'nted -grove. So I goes, an' afore I knew ut, right up to the ha'nted house -I was, and inside ut." - -Harry paused and sat looking away, a reminiscent smile on his face. - -"What did you find there?" Billy's tone of impatience brought the -old man out of his musing. - -"Whisky," he answered solemnly, "two great jugs full avut, Billy Bye." - -"And what else?" - -"Nothin' else," returned Harry. "Nuthin' else that mattered, Bye. A -square box there was that I had no time to open a'tall; but whisky! -Oh, Billy Bye--there ut was afore me, enough av ut to coax all the -blood-suckin' bats and snakes in hades up to mock the consumer av ut." - -Billy reached down and gripped the old man's arm. "You found that -stuff and didn't so much as tell Spencer?" he cried indignantly. - -"And fer why should I tell Spencer, thin?" Harry asked, his -blood-shot eyes wide in wonder. "Nobuddy told me where to find ut, -did they?" - -"But Harry, don't you see, that stuff belongs to Caleb Spencer. The -thieves must have hid it there, in the ha'nted house." - -"Course they did," Harry agreed. "Ut's no fool you take me fer, -shurely?" - -"Then why didn't you tell Spencer? Don't you know them thieves will -find out you've been there an' they'll hide that stuff in a new -place, Harry?" - -The old man laughed softly. "Wull they now? Well I guess they won't -neither. It's hide ut in a new place I did, meself. They'll have a -lot av trouble afindin' ut, too." - -"Then," cried Billy, hotly, "you're as big a thief as they are." - -"Hould on now!" Harry swayed up from the log, the grin gone from his -face. "Ut's little did I think that Billy Wilson would be -misunderstandin' me," he said, reproachfully. "Not wan article that -the box contained has been teched by me. A small bit av the whisky -have I took, because it was no more than sufficient reward fer me -findin' the stuff, but the box is safe and safe ut wull be returned -to Spencer whin the proper time comes." - -"An' when'll that be, Harry?" - -"Listen thin." Harry touched Billy's arm. "Ivery day since I made -me discovery an' hid box and jugs in a new spot have I visited that -sour-faced ould Spencer, and I've said: 'Supposin' one should -discover your stolen goods, Caleb Spencer, would ye be willin' t' let -what little whisky there was left go to the finder?" - -"An' phwat has he said? 'Some av ut,' said he, when first I broached -the question. And the nixt time I axed him he said. 'Half av ut.' -Nixt time--only yesterday ut was--he said, 'Harry, I'd be givin' -two-thirds av ut to the finder.'" - -Harry laughed and again touched Billy's arm. "To-night ut's go back -to him I wull an' the question put to him once more, an' this night, -plase God, he wull likely say, 'All av ut, Harry, all av ut.'" - -Billy, who was thinking hard, looked up at this. "But," he said -sternly, "you said, only a few minutes ago, that you were done -forever with whisky." - -"And begobs I meant ut too," cried Harry. "When Caleb Spencer says, -'All av ut' to me, ut's laugh at him I wull, and tell him it's meself -wants none av ut." - -Billy's frown vanished. "Fine, Harry, fine," he commended, "an' I'll -go down to the store with you. Come up to the house, now, and I'll -manage to sneak you out some supper." - -"Plase God," murmured Harry, "but ut's meself 'll be glad to lave -this awful spot; lead on, Billy." - -"Foller me then, an' remember to keep quiet," cautioned Billy. - -"But fer why should I keep quiet? Haven't I thrown off the curse av -rum! Why should I not shout the cry av victory, Billy? - -"Shout nuthin'; you keep still." - -"But a small bit av a chune, Billy. A bit av a lilt on me whistle, -now." - -"No. After I've got hold of our supper you kin lilt all you care to. -Look here, Harry, you know jest how much use Ma has fer you; if she -finds out you're on our place, she'll sick the dog on you. Now you -do as I say." - -He took the path through the trees, Harry stumbling close behind, -grumbling and protesting against the unkind fate that would not allow -of his celebrating victory in a manner befitting a true son of -Ireland. When, at length, they reached the edge of the wood, Billy -stopped and pointed to a stump. - -"Set down there an' keep still as a mouse till I get back," he -admonished. "I won't be long." - -"But, Billy Bye, supposin' the cold-eyed burruds an' the hissin' -serpents should be returnin' to threaten me wance ag'in?" - -Billy's hand went down into his trouser's pocket. "Look," he -comforted, "I've got my rabbit-foot charm, an' I'm goin' to draw a -magic circle 'round the stump you're settin' on. No snakes, owl, ner -even old Scroggie's ghost kin get inside that circle." - -Harry held his breath and watched him, fascinated, as he proceeded to -trace the ring. - -"Fer the love av hivin, be sure ye make both inds av the circle -jine," he shivered. "Ut's a small crack a ghost kin squeeze through, -I'm tellin' ye." - -"There you are, Harry." Billy, having completed the magic circle, -stood up and put the charm back in his pocket. "Not a chink in it," -he assured the old man. - -"Faith," sighed Harry, "ut's meself is willin' to be riskin' a little -in return fer a bite to eat, fer it's fastin' long I've been an' as -impty as a church, I am." - -"We'll fix that," Billy promised, as he slipped away through the -darkness toward the light which glimmered through the trees. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -ERIE OF THE LIGHT-HOUSE - -Through the summer night, Hinter, astride a rangy roan, rode the ten -mile trail that lay between the foot of Rond Eau and the light-house. -On his left the giant pines stood with sharp points clearly defined -against the starlight like the bayonet-fixed guns of a sleeping army; -to his right swept dwarf cedars and stunted oaks and beyond them the -bay marshes, with weaving fire-flies shimmering like star-dust close -above them. - -It was a lonely trail but Hinter had ridden it often. He knew that -in the shadows lurked wild things which resented his intrusion of -their retreat; that later, when the night grew old, timber-wolves -would voice their protest, and fierce-eyed lynx, tufted ears flat and -fangs bared in hatred, would look down upon him from overhanging -branch of tree. But behind him stalked protection in the form of two -great dogs against which no wolf or cat had ever waged successful -warfare. Besides, there was the heavy "40-40" revolver in his belt. - -"Two Great Danes and a 'bull-dog' should be protection enough for any -man," he would laugh to Landon, the light-house keeper, when the -latter shook his head doubtfully over Hinter's foolhardiness in -riding this lone night trail. And Landon, whose asthma made talking -difficult for him, would say no more, realizing that it was useless. - -The light-house keeper, who lived with his daughter in a comfortable -house on the extreme end of the Point, had always been glad to -welcome Hinter to his isolated loneliness. With an invalid's -self-centeredness, he believed that it was to relieve the monotony of -his existence that this man paid him periodical visits. He did not -dream that his daughter, Erie, named after the lake, whose blue lay -deep in her eyes and whose moods were of herself a part, was the real -attraction which drew Hinter to their home. Indeed it would have -taken a much more astute observer than the man who had been keeper of -the light for more than thirty years to have observed this. Never by -look, word or sign had Hinter shown that in this slender, -golden-haired girl, whose laughter was the sweetest note in the -world--this girl who could trim a sail in biting gale and swim the -wide, deep channel when tempest angered it to clutching -under-currents--was more to him than just a glad, natural product of -her world. Always his manner towards her had been one of kindly -respect. In time she grew ashamed of the distrust she had on first -acquaintance intuitively felt for him. He was good to her father and -considerate of her. He talked interestingly of the big outside world -and described the cities he had visited. Her father liked him and -always looked forward to his visits, and with a sick man's petulance -grumbled if Hinter failed to come on his regular nights. - -"He's a fine man, Erie," he would say to is daughter, "and well off, -too. I'd like to see you married to a man like Hinter before I go. -Ever since your Ma died, I've been worried about leavin' you behind." - -"But I am going to marry Frank, Daddy," the girl would say softly. - -"Hey? Oh, all right, all right. Stanhope's a fine youngster, but -poor, poor." - -He would lapse into silence, sucking his pipe, and watching Erie -putting away the supper-dishes. - -"He'll never find the Scroggie will," he would speak again. "He'll -always be poor." - -"But, Daddy," the girl would laugh, "we love each other. We are -happy and real happiness is worth more than money, isn't it, dear?" - -"Aye," he would answer. "Your mother and I were happy in that way. -But she was taken away and all I had in her place was heart -loneliness--but for you." Then she would kiss him softly and, -stealing about her household tasks, sing him to fitful sleep as she -moved quietly about the room. - -Tonight as Hinter rode through the pine-scented gloom the light-house -keeper sat in his big chair beside the window that looked upon the -lake. Spent from a trying fit of coughing, his nerves crying for the -rest which was denied him, the sick man had gazed across to where the -shuttle of sunset was weaving its fabric of changing colors upon sky -and water. But he had not seen those glad lights; had not heard the -cries of the haven-seeking gulls or the soft plaintive notes of the -night birds from the Point forest. The lights had flashed and -departed unseen, the wild calls had been voiced and sunk to silence -unheard, because a tenderer light, which had belonged to this, his -own hour, had vanished; a sweeter song than even night birds could -voice had been stilled--the light in his Erie's eyes and the low -notes from her glad heart. - -He knew why. She had told him. God, Destiny, Fate, had come between -her and the man she loved. The man had lost more than life in -playing the part of a man. He was blind! Behind him were only -memories that could not be buried. Before him only darkness, -bleakness, despair. And he had done an heroic thing in giving her -up. Helpless, powerless to support her, what else was there for him -to do? So, in his love for her, he had dug a grave and in it buried -Hope and all that God in His wise ordinance had allowed him to live -and feel. And they had kissed and parted, kneeling beside this -grave, cold lips to cold lips, broken heart to broken heart. It was -the kiss on the cross which each must carry. - -So much had she told him, and the light had gone from her eyes, the -song from her lips. - -The sick man sank lower in his chair, his face working, his heart -crying the same pleading cry as cried the heart of Rachel of old for -her children--a cry understood only by the heart in which it was -born--and God. - -And so Hinter found him there before the window in the gloom, his -thin hands clutching the arms of his chair, his white face sunk on -his breast. "Landon, old friend, asleep?" he asked softly. No -answer. Hinter struck a match and lit the lamp on the table. Then -he touched the sleeper's arm; still he did not stir. - -Alarmed, Hinter drew the big chair about so that the light would fall -on the sick man's face. Slowly Landon opened his eyes. He struggled -erect and attempted to speak, but a fit of coughing assailed him and -robbed him of breath. - -From his pocket Hinter drew a flat bottle and poured a portion of its -contents into a glass. Gently raising the emaciated form to a more -comfortable position, he held the glass to the blue lips. Under the -stimulant of the brandy Landon rallied. - -"Thanks," he whispered. Then, hospitality his first thought, he -motioned towards a chair. Hinter sat down. - -"Worse than usual tonight, isn't it?" he asked in kindly tones. - -"Yes, asthma's that way--eases off--then comes back--hits you -sudden." He glanced at the bottle. Hinter, understanding, poured -him out another portion. - -"It seems to be the only thing that helps," gasped Landon as he -swallowed the draught. - -Hinter nodded. "Not a bad medicine if rightly used," he said. He -filled his pipe, lit it, and passed the tobacco-pouch to Landon. He -was watching the door leading to the inner room. - -"Erie out in her boat?" he asked, casually. "I don't hear her voice, -or her whistle." - -"She's out on the bay," answered the father and lapsed again into -brooding silence. - -Hinter waited. At length Landon roused from his musings. "My -heart's heavy for her," he said, "and heavy for the young man who -loves her. You've heard, of course. News of the like spreads -quickly." - -"Yes, I've heard." Hinter rose abruptly and strode to the window -overlooking the bay. A full moon was lifting above the pines. In -its silvery track a tiny sail was beating harborward. - -After a time he turned and walked back slowly to where the sick man -sat. "Mr. Landon," he said, gravely, "I love your daughter. With -your permission I would make her my wife. Wait," as the older man -attempted to speak. "Hear what I have to say. I have endeavored to -be honorable. Never by word or look have I given her to understand -what my feelings are toward her. For Stanhope, the man who was brave -and strong enough to give her up, I have always had the deepest -respect; and now, knowing the price he has paid, I honor him. He was -far more worthy of your daughter than I am. But now, as all is over -between them, I would do my best to make her happy." - -"That I know well," spoke the father eagerly. "Ever since my clutch -on life has been weakenin' I've worried at the thought that perhaps I -may leave her unprovided for. You have lifted the load, my friend. -I will speak to Erie and place your proposal of marriage before her. -She's a good girl; she'll be guided by her father in the matter." - -Hinter gravely thanked him. "I would advise that you say nothing for -a time," he said. "She is high-spirited, loyal to the core. She is -suffering. Time will assist us; we will wait. I shall visit you -oftener than heretofore, but until I think the moment expedient say -nothing to her." - -A light step sounded on the gravel; the door opened and Erie entered. -She was dressed in white. The damp bay-breeze had kissed the golden -hair to shimmering life but there were shadows beneath the violet -eyes, a dreary pathos about the unsmiling mouth. - -She placed a cold little hand in the eager one which Hinter extended -to her and her fleeting glance left him to fasten on the sick man in -the arm chair. - -"Daddy," she cried, running over to kneel beside him. "It was -selfish of me to leave you alone." - -"I've had our good friend Hinter for company, girlie," said her -father, stroking the damp curls. - -Erie flashed their visitor a look of gratitude. "It is good of you -to come to him," she said. "He always looks forward to your visits, -and grows quite fretful if you are late." She smiled and patted the -father's hand. "The east wind's bad for the cough but tomorrow -you'll be as good as ever, won't you, Daddy?" - -Landon did not reply. He simply pressed the girl's cold hand. -Hinter caught the look of suffering in her eyes as she arose and -passed into the outer room. When she returned she carried a heavy, -wicker-bound can. - -"My lamps need filling," she explained. "No, please don't come," as -Hinter made to take the can from her, "I would rather you stayed with -him." - -He bowed, and his eyes followed her from the room. "What a wonderful -creature she is," he thought. - -"Hinton," Landon's weak voice broke in on his thoughts, "you haven't -given me the neighborhood news. Have they found out who robbed the -store yet?" - -"No," answered Hinter, resuming his seat, "I believe not. Some were -disposed to think that the shoremen had a hand in the robbery but I -don't think so." - -"Why don't you? The Sand-sharkers aren't above doin' it, are they?" - -"Well, I don't say that they are. That job was not done by any -amateurs, though. The men who broke into Spencer's store were old -hands at the game. I was at the store and had a look over it. I've -seen the work of professional burglars before. These fellows made a -clean sweep and left not a single clew. Still, I made my own -deductions. I can't tell you more until I have proved my suspicions -correct. Hush!" he warned, "she's coming. I must be hitting the -trail for the Settlement." - -As Hinter picked up his hat Erie entered and the light words he was -about to speak died on his lips at sight of the girl's stricken face. -"You are tired," he said, in deep concern. "The work of tending the -lights alone is too much for you. Why not let me send someone from -the Settlement to help you, at least until your father is strong -enough to take up his end of the work again?" - -She shook her head. "The work is not hard and I love it," she -answered. "After the lights are lit I have nothing to do. Daddy's -asthma will not let him sleep, so he sits in his big chair all night -and keeps his eye on the light while I sleep. Then when the sun -sucks up the mists from bay and lake he is able to get his sleep. -So, you see," smiling bravely, "we get along splendidly." - -Hinter held out his hand. "Well, good night, Miss Erie," he said. -"I'll be up again soon, with some books for you." - -"But you mustn't go without having a cup of tea and a bite to eat," -she protested. "Please sit down and I'll have it ready in a minute." - -He shook his head. "Not tonight, thanks. You're tired, and I've a -long ride before me. Next time I come we'll have tea," he promised -as he turned to shake hands with Landon. - -"Your guardians are with you I suppose?" said Erie, as he turned to -go. - -He laughed, "Sphinx and Dexter, you mean? Yes, they are out in the -stable with my horse. By the way, they didn't see you last time we -were here, and they seemed to feel pretty badly about it. Would you -mind stepping outside and speaking a word to them?" he asked. "They -are very fond of you, you know." - -She shivered. "And I'm very fond of them, only," she added as she -followed him to the door, "I never know whether they want to eat me -up or caress me." - -"You won't forget to come back again soon, Hinter?" called the sick -man. "It does me a sight of good to see you and get the news from -the Settlement." - -"I'll return soon," Hinter promised. "Don't worry about anything. A -speedy recovery--and good night." - -A full moon was veiling lake and bay in sheen of silvery whiteness as -Hinter and Erie went out into the August night. Eastward the long -pine covered Point swept a dark line against the grey, shadowy -rush-lands. Somewhere among the hidden ponds mallards and grey ducks -were quacking contentedly as they fed. A swamp coon raised his -almost human cry as he crept the sandy shores in search of the frogs -whose tanging notes boomed from the boglands. - -Man and girl paused for a little time on the strip of white sand to -drink in the beauty of the night and the sounds of its wild life. -Then Hinter stepped to the stable and opened the door. "Come boys," -he commanded and the two great dogs came bounding out to leap upon -him with whines of welcome, then on to where the girl stood, waiting, -half eagerly, half frightened. - -"Gently now," Hinter cautioned, and they threw themselves at her -feet, massive heads on outstretched paws, deep-set eyes raised to her -face. She bent and placed a hand on the head of each. - -"Surely," she said, "they are not as ferocious as they are said to -be?" - -Hinter knit his brows. "I'm afraid they are," he answered. "But my -friends are their friends, you see. There is only one other person -besides yourself and myself who can do what you are doing now, -though." - -She looked up quickly. "And may I ask who that is?" - -"Certainly; it's young Billy Wilson. You know--the lad who is always -roaming the woods." - -"Yes," she said softly. "I know him perhaps better than most folks -do. I am not surprised that he can handle these dogs, Mr. Hinter." - -He glanced at her closely, struck by the odd note in her voice. "He -seems a manly little chap," he said. "I must get to know him better." - -"You may succeed," she replied, "but I'm afraid you would have to -know Billy a long time to know him well." - -She bent and gave the dogs a farewell pat; then moved like the spirit -of the moonlight to the house. "Good night," she called softly from -the doorway. - -"Good night," he echoed. - -Five minutes later he was riding the two-mile strip of sand between -the light-house and the pines, the Great Danes close behind. When he -reached the timber he reined in to look back over his shoulder at the -tall white tower with its ever-sweeping, glowing eye. Then, with a -sigh, he rode forward and passed into the darkness of the trees. -Half way down the trail he dismounted and, after hitching his horse -to a tree and commanding his dogs to stand guard, plunged into the -thickly-growing pines on the right of the path. - -Half an hour later he came out upon the lake shore. Quickly he -scraped together a pile of drift wood. He applied a match to it and -as fire leaped up stood frowning across the water. Then, as an -answering light flashed from some distance out in the lake, he sighed -in relief and seating himself on the sand lit his pipe. After a time -the sound of oars fell on his ears. A boat scraped on the beach. -Two men stepped from it and approached the fire. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -OLD HARRY TURNS A TRICK - -Maurice Keeler, wan, hollow-eyed, and miserable, was seated on a -stool just outside the door in the early morning sunlight. Near him -sat his mother, peeling potatoes, her portly form obscured by a -trailing wistaria vine. What Maurice had endured during his two -weeks with the measles nobody knew but himself. His days had been -lonely, filled with remorse that he had ever been born to give people -trouble and care; his nights longer even than the days. Hideous -nightmares had robbed him of slumber. Old Scroggie's ghost had -visited him almost nightly. The Twin Oaks robbers, ugly, hairy -giants armed with red-hot pitch-forks, had bound him to a tree and -applied fire to his feet. What use to struggle or cry aloud for -help? Even Billy, his dearest chum, had sat and laughed with all the -mouths of his eight heads at his pain. Of course he had awakened to -learn these were but dreams; but to a boy dreams are closely akin to -reality. - -And now, after days of loneliness and nights of terror, Maurice was -up again and outside where he could catch the wood-breeze and smell -the sweet odor of plants and clearing fires. He wondered how many -years he had been away from it all. How old was he now? Why didn't -his mother answer his questions? He did not realize that his voice -was weak; he had forgotten that his mother was deaf. All he knew was -that nobody cared a hang for him any more, not even his own mother. -His weak hands clutched at the bandage at his throat, as though to -tear it off and hurl it from him. His head sank weakly back against -the wall, and the tears came to his eyes. - -Suddenly those eyes opened wide. Was he dreaming again or did he -hear the low croak of a crow? He twisted his head. There at his -feet sat Croaker. The crow's beady eyes were fastened on him. -Suspended from its neck was a cord and attached to the cord was a -piece of yellow wrapping paper. - -Maurice's white face slowly expanded in a grin. He glanced in the -direction of his mother, then held out his hand to the crow with a -lowspoken, "Come Croaker, ol' feller." - -But Croaker shook his head and backed away, emitting a string of -unintelligible utterances. - -"Come Croaker," pleaded Maurice again. But the crow was obdurate. -It is barely possible that he failed to recognize Maurice owing to -the sick boy's altered looks or perhaps he expected a glimpse of the -reward which was always his for the performing of a service. With -one backward look from his bright eyes, he spread his short wings and -sailed across to Mrs. Keeler, settling on her shoulder with a harsh -croak, whereat that greatly-startled lady sat down on the gravel, her -lap full of dirty water and potatoes. - -What Mrs. Keeler might have done is not known, for just at this -juncture a high-pitched voice came to her from the garden gate. "Get -hold of him, Missus Keeler an' wring his black neck." - -Mrs. Keeler, who heard the voice without catching Mrs. Wilson's -words, struggled up. Croaker promptly sailed over to Maurice for -protection. The boy broke the string attached to the note from Billy -and reaching behind him secured from a plate a scrap of the dinner he -had left uneaten. "Here Croaker," he whispered, "grab it quick. -Now, back you go where things are safe," and he tossed the bird into -the air. Croaker flew to a tree-top and proceeded to enjoy the -reward of service well rendered. - -Maurice glanced at the message, then his face fell. "Oh blame it -all!" he muttered, "another of Bill's sign letters; looks like a -fence that's been struck by lightnin'." - -The several long perpendicular lines were possibly intended to -represent the forest, but what was meant by the two vertical lines -and the crosses directly beneath them Maurice did not know. Also -there was a crudely drawn circle and, inside it, a small square. -Maybe this was supposed to represent a hollow stump with a -squirrel-trap in it, thought the perplexed Maurice. With a sigh of -disgust he turned the paper over. Then his eyes brightened. Written -there in Billy's cramped hand were these words and characters: - -[Illustration: Billy's message] - -Maurice stared. So that was it! Billy and old Harry had found the -goods stolen from the Twin Oaks store. There were doin's--big -doin's, and Billy wanted him in on 'em. He leaned over to secure a -view of his mother and Mrs. Wilson. Mrs. Keeler had removed her wet -apron and was now seated on the bench beside her neighbor, listening -to the latest gossip. - -"That Jim Scroggie, the heir, has come back, an' he's rented the -Stanley house," Mrs. Wilson was saying. "They say he's goin' to cut -down the big woods an' sell the timber. I guess he intends stayin' -right on, 'cause he brought his housekeeper an' his two children, a -boy and a girl, with him." - -"Is he tol'able well-to-do?" Mrs. Keeler asked. - -"Why yes. I understand he's rich as porcupine stew," said Mrs. -Wilson. "What he wants to come here fer, stirrin' up trouble, is -beyond all knowin'. Him an' that man Hinter--they've been trampin' -all over the country examinin' the land, cricks an' everythin'. They -met up with my man, Tom, on the road yesterday an' they stopped him. -Scroggie told him any time he wanted to bore fer water he'd put in a -rig an' Tom needn't pay a cent if he didn't get him a well." - -"Land o' Liberty! but he was generous!" cried Mrs. Keeler. - -"Tom said he'd think it over an' let him know. I guess he was pretty -short with Scroggie, knowin' as he does that the woods an' land -rightly belong to young Stanhope." - -"That it does," agreed Mrs. Keeler, indignantly. "An' him, poor -young man, helpless through loss of his eyesight and all. You heard, -of course, that Frank Stanhope and Erie Landon had broke their -engagement?" - -"Yes, everybody who knows 'em both an' loves 'em both has heard that. -But what else could they do? He's not able to support a wife--the -little farm is only enough fer himself, after that Burke an' his wife -are paid fer workin' it and lookin' after the house, an' he's too -high-spirited to ask Erie to share his burden and poverty." - -Mrs. Keeler gulped and reached for her apron but recollecting that -she had hung it up to dry, rubbed her eyes on her sleeve. "Cobin -says that young man is jest about heartbroke, spite o' the smile he -wears," she said. "Tries so hard to be cheerful, too, in spite of -all. Preacher Reddick had supper with us last Sunday night an' he -said the teacher was the finest specimen of Christly example he'd -ever seen." - -Mrs. Wilson cleared her throat. "They do say that Mr. Hinter visits -the light-house regular every week. Have you heard that, Missus -Keeler?" - -"Yes, an' I'm wonderin' why?" - -Mrs. Wilson rose and smoothed down her skirt. "Well I wouldn't go so -far as to say I know why, but I have my suspicions," she declared. -"One thing I do know, it's not 'cause he's so interested in a man -sick with the asthma." - -Mrs. Keeler looked at her sagely. "Erie would never marry any man -like Hinter," she asserted. - -"You can't tell what a girl'll do fer her father," said the other -woman dubiously. "But there now," she broke off, "here I am visitin' -away with you, jest as though there wasn't a batch of bread riz and -kneaded at home, ready fer the oven. When I looked fer my bread-pans -blest a one could I find. I know that Billy has lugged 'em off -somewheres to use as bath-tubs fer his birds and lizards; so, thinks -I, I'll jest run over an' ask Mrs. Keeler fer the loan of hern." - -"Why to be sure," rejoined her neighbor, "come right along in an' -I'll get 'em. I want you to see how nice my canned tomaters look." -As they turned towards the house, Mrs. Wilson caught sight of -Maurice, huddled in the big chair beneath the trailing vine. - -"Well, fer the land sakes alive, Maurice!" she cried. "It is good to -see you up ag'in. You've had a hard pull of it, poor lad. Dear -heart! but it's thinned you a lot, too! Think of any mortal boy -changin' so in two short weeks." - -Maurice squirmed. "It seemed a lot longer than two weeks," he said -faintly. - -"There, there," cried the big-hearted woman, "of course it did." - -Mrs. Keeler edged forward distrustfully. "What's that he says he's -goin' to do in two weeks?" she asked, suspicion in her tones. "Cause -if you think, young man, you be goin' to go in swimmin' ag'in, inside -two weeks--" she pointedly addressed Maurice, "you got another think -comin'. I'm goin' to see that you don't suffer no re-lapse." - -"I don't want to go swimmin'" wailed Maurice, "but I do want'a walk a -bit out through the woods, Ma." - -"No." Mrs. Keeler shook her head with finality, "I can't trust you -out o' my sight. You gotta set right there where you be." - -"She don't know how awful lonesome it is settin' still so long," -sighed Maurice, casting an appealing eye on Billy's mother. "I wisht -you'd ask her to let me go as far as your place with you, Missus -Wilson," he pleaded, lowering his voice. "Billy kin trail 'long back -with me an' see I don't cut up any." - -"Maurice," remonstrated Mrs. Wilson, smothering the sympathy in her -heart in the clutch of duty, "it's wrong fer you to take advantage of -your pore ma's deefness this way. I wouldn't send Willium back with -you, anyways. What devilment you wouldn't think of he certainly -would. No, I'll ask your ma to let you come, but it's Anson I'll -have bring you home an' not Willium." And with a frown and a shake -of her head she followed her neighbor into the house. - -Maurice waited hopefully until his mother and Mrs. Wilson came out -again. Then he turned eagerly towards them. - -"Your Ma says you kin come," said Mrs. Wilson, "Providin' I don't let -you near the cookie jar, and see that Anson brings you back safe." - -"Mind you," his mother admonished as he followed Mrs. Wilson down the -path, "if you come home with wet feet into bed you go and stay 'till -snow flies." - -When they reached the meadow-path, with the outbuildings between them -and the watchful eyes of his mother, Maurice removed the shawl from -about his throat. "I won't be needin' it any more, now," he said in -answer to his companion's frown of protest. "It makes me too warm, -an' the doctor he said whatever I did I mustn't sweat." Mrs. Wilson -allowed the explanation to stand. - -They climbed the rail fence and started to cross the stubble-field. -As they neared the long row of brown-fruited sumachs Mrs. Wilson -paused and stood in a listening attitude. "Say, isn't that Willium's -varmint of a crow settin' up there on that ash?" she asked, pointing -to the slender tree growing among the sumachs. - -Maurice shook his head. "No ma'am, that ain't him," he said. "It's -too big fer Croaker; it's a wild crow." - -"Is it?" The woman started on again, then halted abruptly. "Well, -it's queer how much his voice is like Willium's crow. Can't you hear -him mutterin' and croakin'?" - -"Yep, I hear him, but all crows do that," Maurice hastened to -explain. Then as a shrill note, half a cluck and half a whistle, -sounded from the bushes, he added quickly. "That's a hen partridge -callin'. That crow's tryin' to scare her off her nest, most like, -so's he kin steal the eggs." - -Again came the low whistle, and Maurice swayed, staggered and sank -down on the stubble, with a faint moan. With a cry of alarm Mrs. -Wilson bent above him. "Maurice! Maurice Keeler!" she gasped. -"Whatever is wrong? There now, I knowed you was up and out too soon. -Come along. I'm goin' to take you straight back home." - -"Oh please don't do that," begged Maurice. "I'm jest a little weak, -that's all. You leave me here an' send Anse back to stay with me. I -do so want to go over in the woods fer a little while, Missus Wilson." - -The woman stood frowning and considering. "Well," she said at -length. "I'll go an' have Anson come fer you but you see you don't -budge an inch till he comes." - -"No ma'am, he'll find me right here." - -Maurice watched her until she climbed the road fence and entered the -grove inside the Wilson gate. Then he started crawling towards the -sumachs. As he reached them Billy poked his head from the bushes, a -grin on his face. - -"Have hard work gettin' away from her, Maurice?" he asked. - -"Not very. Gee! Bill, it's good to see you ag'in." - -"It's good to see you too, Maurice. You got my code message, didn't -you?" - -"Yep. Have you found the stuff they stole from the store, Bill?" - -"You bet. Me an' old Harry know right where it is. We ain't told -another soul but you and teacher Stanhope 'bout it yet, but we're -goin' to soon. Come on an' I'll show you where it's buried." - -"I can't," said Maurice miserably. "Your Ma's goin' to send Anse out -to keep tabs on me. If he wasn't such a tattletale we might work it -but you know him." - -Billy pursed up his lips in thought. "Say!" he cried, "I've got it. -You go on back there where you played possum, an' wait fer Anse. -When he comes he's goin' to beg a favor of you, sure as shootin'. He -played a dirty trick on me not long ago an' he's been keepin' out of -my way ever since. Lied to me so's to get me to thrash a feller that -licked him. I'll tell you all about it later. Anse is goin' to ask -you to square it with me; he's jest that kind. You promise to get -him off this time if he goes away an' leaves you by yourself. Then -you come back here, see?" - -"Yes, but if he goes an' tells your Ma, what then?" - -"But he won't. If he does she'll tan him good fer goin' off an' -leavin' you by yourself. You tell him he'll have to wait around here -till you get back. He'll do it, all right. There he comes through -the grove now. Better crawl back to where Ma left you." - -Maurice dropped on all fours and started wriggling through the rough -stubble, sighing in relief as he reached the desired spot. - -Anson was grinning as he came up. "Kind'a weak on the pins, eh?" he -greeted, "Ma told me I was to come across here an' see you didn't get -into no mischief." - -Maurice wanted to knock that grin off Anson's sneering mouth, but he -was in no condition to do it. Besides it was a moment for diplomacy. -"Everybody seems to think I want'a fall in a well an' get drowned, er -somethin'," he grumbled. "Why do I need watchin', I'd like to know?" - -Anson chuckled, "Well, you ain't goin' to get no chance to do any -funny stunts this afternoon," he promised. "I'm here to keep an eye -on you." - -"Which one?" Maurice asked sarcastically. "The good one er the -blacked one?" - -Anson's face reddened. "You needn't get funny!" he cried, angrily. -"Any feller's liable to black an eye runnin' agin a tree, in the -dark." - -"Or a fist in the daylight," grinned Maurice. "Well, never mind, -Anse," he said consolingly, "you've got one good eye left, but -somethin' tells me you won't have it long." - -"What you mean?" asked Anson suspiciously. - -"Why, I've got a hunch that somebody's layin' for you, that's all," -answered Maurice. "'Course, I may be wrong. Am I?" - -Anson squatted down beside Maurice. "No, by gosh! you're not so far -wrong," he admitted, ruefully. "Somebody is layin' fer me, an' -layin' fer me right. It's Bill. Say, Maurice, won't you try an' get -him to let me off this time. If you will I won't ferget it in a -hurry." - -Maurice stood up. "Where's Bill now?" he asked. - -"I dunno. Down where he keeps his pets I s'pose. Why?" - -"Cause I'm goin' down an' find him. I'll beg you off this time, -Anse, if you'll do as I say." - -"What you mean, do as you say?" - -"You're to stay here till I get back, no matter how long I'm away." - -Anson considered. "An' you promise to get Bill to let me off?" - -"Sure." - -"All right, I'll stay." - -"Course, if you ain't here when I get back the bargain's off. -Understand?" - -Anson nodded. "I'll be here," he promised. - -"Bill won't bother you none if you do what I say," said Maurice as he -made for the grove. Half an hour later he and Billy approached old -Harry's hut and knocked gently on the door. Harry's voice bade them -enter. - -They found him seated on a stool, fondling the big grey-blue cat. He -placed the cat gently down as they entered. - -"God love ye, byes," he cried, "it's a foine pair ye are, an' no -mistake; so it's sick y've been, Maurice?" - -"Measles," said Maurice. - -Harry nodded sympathetically. "Faith, measles are a blissin' in -disguise, as are many other afflictions," he said. "Would ye relish -a swate smell and the colors av God's big out av doors so much, think -ye, if kept prisoner from thim ye never were? I'm thinkin' not. - -"Take meself," he went on, drawing his stool closer to the chairs of -his young friends. "All me life have I dhrunk more er less av the -cup that cheers; but I'm through now, byes, not so much either -because ut's a fit av the blue divils the stuff give me but because I -mane from now on to quaff the swate draft of Nature widout a bad -taste in me mouth. I'm through wid whisky feriver, and ut's Harry -O'Dule, siventh son av a siventh son, so declares himself this day. -Ut's out into God's blissid sunlight have I come afther bein' held -prisoner by a deadlier disease than measles, me byes." - -The tears came to the old man's eyes as he felt the sincere pressure -of the hands held out to him. "Begobs! but ut's a foine pair ye be," -he muttered. Then aloud. "And have ye told him, Billy?" - -Billy nodded. - -"Well, this much more I'll be tellin' both av ye," said Harry. "Just -a bit ago two strange min stopped at me cabin dure. A rough lookin' -pair they were, I'm sayin'. Says the big one av the two: 'Ould man,' -says he, 'do ye know wan in these parts named Hinter?'" - -"'I know one such,' 'sez I. - -"'Then,' sez he, 'wull yu do me the favor av deliverin' a missage to -him an' kin ye go now?' says he. - -"'I kin that,' says I." - -"'And the message,' he says, 'this is ut: "Off Gibson's Grove at tin -o'clock,"' says he." - -"'All right,' says I, and he put a silver dollar in me fist and wint -away wid his companion. - -"I delivered the missage to Hinter. And whin I returned to me cabin -I found everythin' in a jumble, an' no mistake. Somebody had -scattered the furs on me bunk and turned everythin' upside down, they -had, an' they had sought underneath the flure, too." - -"An' did they find it?" gasped Billy. - -"Begobs they did not," grinned Harry. "And I'll be tellin' ye fer -why. Only this blissid mornin', uts took the stuff from beneath me -flure, I did, and hid it in a new spot." - -Billy sighed his relief. "Gee, but it's lucky you did," he cried. -"That's the very thing Trigger Finger Tim would'a done, ain't it, -Maurice?" - -Maurice nodded. "I'm goin' to stick along here an help you watch the -stuff, Harry. Them men'll likely come prowlin' back here." - -"An' torture you, Harry," put in Billy. "Tie you to a tree an' throw -knives at you till you weaken an' tell 'em where the stuff's hid. -That's what they did to Trigger Finger." - -"Faith," cried Harry, "ut's divil a bit I know concernin' that man -Trigger Finger, but ut's small reward they'd be gettin' fer their -pains if they tied me up and tried torture, an' I'll be tellin' ye -fer why, byes. The stuff's gone back to Spencer. Load ut I did -meself on Joe Scraff's buckboard, not more than an hour agone. The -box wid the black fox skins an' two big jugs av whisky. Back I sent -ut all, byes, wid the compliments av the both av ye an' me poor self. -But now it'll be there, and the heart av ould Caleb'll be beatin' two -skips fer one wid jye at recoverin' all av his stolen possessions. I -did right, I hope now, in sindin' ut along back?" he finished. - -"You bet you did!" cried the boys, together. - -Maurice stood up. "Well, as there's no need to keep watch here, -maybe I best trail along home. Anse'll be gettin' tired waitin' fer -me." - -"That won't hurt him; he's always tired anyway," rejoined Billy. -"But we'd best go." - -At the door he paused and turned toward Harry. "Where's Gibson's -Grove?" he asked. - -Harry, who had picked up his hat and taken his tin whistle from his -bosom, shook his head. "There's no sech place, I'm thinkin'," he -answered. - -Billy frowned. "What did Hinter say when you gave him the message, -Harry?" - -Harry chuckled. "Faith, ut's crazy he thought I was I guess," he -cried. "'Ould man,' sez he, 'somebody has been playin' a trick on -ye. I know no such place as Gibson's Grove.' Thin begobs! he -laughed, like he saw the humor av ut, and had me sate meself in the -shade and smoke a cigar while I risted. So I'm thinkin', byes, them -min jest wanted to get rid av me the while they ransacked me house -and belongin's, bad cess to 'em!" - -Billy laughed. "Come along as far as the clearin', Harry," he -invited, "and play us a tune that'll cheer Maurice up, will you?" - -"Faith, an' that I'll do," cried O'Dule. "Lilt him a chune I wull -that'll make his laggin' feet dance, and his laggin' spirit look up -above the slough av despond." - -And so down the path ridged with the bronze bars of late afternoon -sunlight, they passed, Harry strutting in the lead, wrinkled face -lifted, scanty white locks streaming in the breeze as he drew from -his whistle a wild sweet melody. - -"There now," he cried, when at last the clearing was reached, and the -whistle was tucked away in the bosom of his flannel shirt, "I'll be -partin' wid ye now, byes, fer a spell. Over to Spencer's store I'll -be goin', to glimpse the jye in his eyes, and axe him to trust me fer -a few groceries I'll be needin' till me next allowance arrives from -the home land. And ut's no doubt I have in me mind that he'll do ut -gladly, fer ut's a tinder man he is at heart an' no mistake." - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -BILLY'S PROBLEMS MULTIPLY - -Recovery of the stolen goods caused considerable excitement in the -Settlement. For a week or so nothing else was talked of and -conjecture ran rife as to why the thieves had not made off with their -pillage rather than hide it in the haunted house. Harry O'Dule came -in for a plenty of praise for the part he had played in finding the -loot but beyond hinting that the job had been more than easy for the -seventh son of a seventh son, he was reticent on the subject. That -he should have returned the liquor almost intact, to the owner, was a -conundrum to all who knew him, with the exception of Billy and -Maurice. - -Billy was anything but easy in his mind during these exciting days. -Who were the two strangers who had searched old Harry's hut? Were -they the same two he and Maurice had seen in the woods on the night -of the storm? If so, why did they send a message to Hinter, and what -was its significance? Where was Gibson's Grove, anyway? These -questions bothered him, and pondering upon them robbed him of -appetite and sleep. Maurice and Elgin were no help to him in a -dilemma of this kind and the new boy, Jim Scroggie, he knew scarcely -well enough to trust. - -It was, perhaps, just as well for Anson that he kept out of Billy's -way during this period. However very little that Billy did was -missed by his pale blue eyes. He knew that his step-brother had -visited the haunted house alone and had searched it nook and corner. -For what? He had seen him fasten his rabbit-foot to a branch of a -tree and dig, and dig. For what? He wanted to find out but dared -not ask. Perhaps Billy was going crazy! He acted like it. Anson -made up his mind that he would confide his suspicions in his mother. -But on the very day that he had decided to pour into Mrs. Wilson's -ear all the strange goings-on of his brother, Billy caught him out on -a forest-path alone and, gripping him by the shoulder, threatened to -conjure up by means of witchcraft at his command a seven-headed -dragon with cat-fish hooks for claws who would rip his--Anson's--soul -to shreds if he so much as breathed to his mother one word of what he -had seen. - -In vain Anson declared he didn't know anything to tell. Billy looked -at him calmly. "You been follerin' me an' I know it," he said. -"Croaker saw you, an' so did Ringdo." - -Anson's mouth fell open in terror. "You don't mean--" he commenced, -then gulped, unable to proceed. - -"That Croaker's a witch? Of course he's a witch, an' so's Ringdo. -They both know exactly what you're thinkin', an' what you're doin'. -Listen, you," as Anse shivered. "Didn't you dream, jest t'other -night, that Croaker was bendin' over you to peck your eyes out?" - -Anse nodded a reluctant admission. - -"Well, s'pose it wasn't any dream? S'pose it was all real? An' -s'pose, if I hadn't waked up in time to stop him, he'd have picked -your eyes out an' put in fisheyes in their place? Then you couldn't -see anythin' unless you was under water. An' s'pose, when I asked -Croaker what he wanted to do that awful thing fer, he up an' told me -that you'd been spyin' on me an' you didn't deserve to own human -eyes? I say s'pose all this. Now then, Anse, you best mind your own -business an' let your mouth freeze up close, else you're goin' to -have an awful time of it. If I get Croaker to say he won't gouge -your eyes out till I give the word it's more'n you deserve." - -Hope stirred in Anson's fear ridden soul--hope which Billy -remorselessly killed with his next words. - -"But I couldn't get no promise out o' Ringdo. He says you're workin' -'gainst us." - -"But I ain't, Bill. Cross my heart, I ain't," protested Anson. "Why -should I be?" - -"Maybe jest 'cause you're a sneak," Billy answered, "but you're my -brother an' I don't want anythin' horrible to happen to you if I kin -help it. The best thing fer you to do is keep mum, an' when you see -me strikin' off anywhere look t'other way." - -"An' you'll see that Ringdo don't bite me, Bill?" pleaded Anson. -"You'll keep him off me, won't you?" - -Billy considered. "I'll try," he promised, "but it's goin' to take a -whole lot of coaxin' to do it. That old witchcoon has been prowlin' -down through the tamarack swale huntin' copperhead snakes for a week -now, gettin' ready to do fer somebody er other." - -"Oh gollies!" gasped Anson. "What's he huntin' copperheads fer, -Bill?" - -"Why to poison his teeth with. He's loadin' up fer somebody, sure as -shootin'. Gosh! I am sorry you've been sech a fool, Anse. Jest -think, one little scratch from that coon's teeth and--' - -"Bill," Anson's voice was husky with terror. "You won't let him -touch me, will you, Bill?" - -"I'll keep him away from you so long as you keep away from us, an' -hold a close tongue in your head," Billy promised. "Understan', -though, it's goin' to be a mighty hard thing to do; I saw him trying -the bark of that elm jest under our winder only this mornin'. He's -likely aimin' to shin up that tree an' fall on your face, most any -night, so if you want your eyes an' your life you'd better do what I -say." - -"I'll do jest as you say, Bill," Anse promised, fervently, and Billy -knew that he meant it. "All right, that's a go," he said and went -off to the menagerie to feed his pets. - -* * * * * - -Something else was to happen shortly to make Billy feel that his -world was full of mysterious agents sent for no other purpose than to -give him fresh worries. - -That evening, as he drove the cattle down along the Causeway for -water he met two teams of horses hauling loads of greasy-looking -timbers and black, oily pipes. The men who drove the teams were -strangers to him. Scroggie, or Heir Scroggie, as he was now commonly -called in the neighborhood, sat beside the driver of one of the -wagons. - -"He's movin' a saw-mill up into the big woods," thought Billy. "But -where in the world did it come from!" he pondered as he looked after -the creaking loads. - -He was not long to remain in doubt on that point. As he approached -the lake road another load of timbers and metal rounded the corner. -Two men were seated on the load, a big, broad-shouldered man and a -thin one. Some little distance behind another man was walking. It -was Hinter. - -As the load drew close to where Billy stood partly concealed by a -clump of red willows, the driver halted his team for a rest after the -pull through the heavy sand, and apparently not noticing the boy, -spoke in guarded tones to his companion. - -"If I had only listened to you, Jack, we wouldn't have lost that -whisky," he said. "I was dead sure nobody would go near that place. -And at that we didn't find what we did the job to get, did we? It'll -be just our luck to have that will turn up in time to cook our goose, -yet." - -"Well, Tom, I reckon it's none of our funeral whether it turns up or -not," growled the other. "We're gettin' paid well fer what we're -doin', ain't we? If it turns up, Scroggie and the boss'll have to do -their own worryin'." - -The driver cracked his whip and the load went on, swaying and -creaking as it left the soft sand for the corduroy. - -A little further on Billy came face to face with Hinter. "How are -you, Billy?" spoke the man, pleasantly. "Still driving the cows down -to the lake for water, I see." - -"Yep; they don't seem to take to the crick water," Billy replied. -"It's sort of scummy an' smells queer." - -Hinter laughed constrainedly. "I've been pretty well through the -Settlement, and most of the creeks are like that," he replied. "What -do you suppose causes that scum and that peculiar odor?" he asked, -casually. - -The boy shook his head. "I dunno; them cricks shouldn't be that way; -they're all spring-fed. Maybe you know?" looking straight into -Hinter's eyes. - -"No," said Hinter, startled at the directness of look and question. -"I don't know." - -He turned abruptly away to follow the wagons but Billy's voice -stopped him. - -"Mr. Hinter, where did that stuff on them wagons come from?" - -"Why, it belongs to Mr. Scroggie," Hinter answered. "It was brought -across from Ohio by schooner. You know what it is, I suppose?" - -"I take it it's machinery an' stuff for a saw-mill," answered Billy -moodily. "Is it?" - -"No. It's a couple of boring rigs, Billy. Mr. Scroggie is going to -earn the good will of all of us here by boring for water and giving -us fine wells on our farms. Don't you think that is mighty good of -him?" - -"Yes, sir. If we had a good well I wouldn't have to drive the cows -down to the lake every night, like this." - -"That's so, Billy." Hinter laughed and slapped the lad's shoulder. -"Well I'll see that he bores on your daddy's farm just as soon as he -strikes water on his own. I intend to help him get started, because -I think it's going to be a good thing for everybody. Besides, I know -boring-rigs from bit to derrick. It's my trade, you see." - -Billy nodded. "An' is the schooner still anchored off here?" he -asked. "I might take a fish-boat an' row out to her, if she is." - -"No," Hinter answered. "She didn't anchor off here; water's too -shallow. She anchored off Gibson's Grove, five miles up the point. -She's on her way back to Cleveland by now." - -He was already several paces away, anxious to overtake the wagon. -Billy stood looking after him, a frown on his brow. "Gibson's -Grove," he repeated. "So that's where Gibson's Grove is!" Then the -message which the strangers had sent by old Harry might have had some -significance, after all. - -Billy passed on slowly after his cows, up through the spicy pines to -the pebbled beach of the lake, pondering for a solution to the -biggest problem his young mind had ever had to wrestle with. He -seated himself on the prow of the big fish-boat, his eyes on the -thirsty cattle now belly-deep in the blue water, drinking their fill. -Along the shore stood the big reels used for holding the seines and -nets when not in use. The twine had been newly coal-tarred and the -pungent odor of the tar mingled pleasingly with the breath of pine -and the sweet freshness of the sun-warmed water. - -Billy's eyes strayed to those reels and he sighed to think that the -washing and retarring of the nets was just another sign that the glad -summer holidays would soon be over and the drab days of fall--and -school--would soon be there. A low-flying flock of black ducks -passed over his head in flight from the lake's bosom where they had -rested through the day to the marsh feeding grounds across the point, -and the shadow passed from the boy's face. - -After all fall had its compensations. Glorious days beneath lowering -skies in a wind-whipped blind were before him; stormy days when the -ducks would sweep in to his decoys and his old "double-barrel" would -take toll. If only Frank Stanhope was to be the teacher instead of -that cold-eyed, mean looking Johnston. He knew he would not get -along with Johnston. And school was to open on Monday. Great Scott! -The very thought made him shiver. - -The cows waded to shore slowly, pausing to brush the troublesome -flies from bulging sides with moist noses, halting to drink again and -again, loath to leave this great body of cool delicious water. Billy -did not hurry them. He thought he understood their feelings in the -matter. It would be a long while before they would have a chance to -drink again. It must be awful, he reasoned, to have to do without a -drink so long. The thought made him thirsty. With his hands he -scooped a hole close to the edge of the lake, and slowly the -miniature well filled with milky water, which immediately cleared, -and lay before him limpid and sweet and fit for king or thirsty boy. - -He stretched himself full length on the sand, and drank. When he -arose, wiping his mouth, the cows had moved off lazily towards the -Causeway. Billy did not follow at once. He did not want to miss the -dance of the fire-flies above the darkening marsh along the Causeway, -the twilight blush on the pine tips of Point Aux forest, the -light-house gleam, nor the prayer-time hush of the mystery-filled -rush-land. So he tarried beside the lake until the pines and cedars -had melted into indistinct masses and the call of the whip-poor-will -sounded faintly from far away. Then he turned homeward. - -As he left the pine grove for the main road he discerned a lone -figure standing on the Causeway, with head lifted and turned towards -the still faintly glowing west, and his footsteps quickened. - -"Teacher," he cried in surprise, "you here?" - -Frank Stanhope turned slowly and held out his hands. - -"Billy Boy," he said, with a smile, "I had to come, at last. Every -time you have offered to guide me to this old spot we knew and loved -and enjoyed together I have refused because--because I thought I -couldn't stand it: because I am unable to see what my heart and -senses tell me is here. But tonight I groped my way down, knowing -that you would find me and help me home." - -He placed his hand on Billy's shoulder, and turned once again toward -the bay. "I am blind," he said, softly, "but I can tell you how it -looks across yonder. There's a white splash of water between deep -shadows, and there's just a faint tinge of crimson above the -tree-tops. The mist is rising off the marsh; the fire-flies are -playing cross-tag above the cat-tails. The light-house--" - -He paused abruptly, and the boy felt the hand on his shoulder tremble. - -"You tell me, Billy," he said huskily--"tell me if the light shines -as brightly as when we watched it together." - -"Why, teacher, it's jest as bright as ever," cried the boy. "It fair -seems to laugh as it swings 'round an' jumps down the bay like a -long, white arm." - -"Does it, Billy, does it?" cried the man, eagerly. - -"Yep, an' everythin' else is jest like you said, too, only the red -streaks have gone from above the trees now." - -"But the light is the same, isn't it, Billy?" - -"Jest the same as ever. There, teacher, it fair laughed right out at -us then." - -"Did it, Billy, did it? And is my face turned towards it now, Billy?" - -"Not quite. There, now you are facin' it." - -"Thanks. Now you mustn't tell me when it comes again--the light--I -want to see if I can feel it. I hope--" - -He caught his breath and stood with lifted face, as the white light -swept it, lingered on it, drew from it reluctantly. - -"Thank God," he whispered, and stood trembling. Then, as though to -himself, he said softly: "It is as though her soft hand touched these -eyes that will never see again." - -Then, as the first note of a night-bird came soft and fluted from a -distant willow copse, Billy took his hand and drew him up along the -corduroy road stretching through the shadows. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -BILLY MEETS A DIVINITY - -Billy spent the days preceding the reopening of the Valley School -much as a criminal awaiting execution might spend his last hours of -life. The fact that Trigger Finger Tim had always accepted the -inevitable sentence of fate with calm and undaunted spirit was the -one buoy to which he might cling in a turbulent sea of uncertainty. -There had been so much to do; so little had been done. The hiding -place of old Scroggie's will was still a secret; no check had been -put upon the preparations of the interloper who claimed to be the -heir of the Scroggie estate; the mystery surrounding the store -robbery remained a mystery; his friend Frank Stanhope was growing -thin and pale from secret suffering. And on Monday morning the -Valley School would open! - -It was tough! Billy felt sure that had he been allowed a little more -time he might have solved one or more of the problems which weighed -him down. He felt like a man who was being cut suddenly off from his -usefulness. Saturday he spent roaming the big woods alone. On -Saturday evening Maurice came over and the two went down to Levee -Creek, set sail in the old punt and steered up-bay towards the -light-house. - -Arriving they found Hinter there, so did not remain long. It was -while Erie Landon was preparing a lunch for them that Billy got an -opportunity to whisper something in her ear. The girl's cheeks -flushed and her blue eyes grew deep with feeling. - -"You tell him, Billy Boy, that the light he feels is my promise of -fidelity," she said softly, "my love, my prayers, my hope. And tell -him that I know all will be well." - -That night, after separating from Maurice, Billy went over to the -Stanhope cottage. It was late but Frank Stanhope was standing beside -the white gate, his arms folded on its top, his chin upon them. - -He raised his face at sound of the boy's step. "Ho, Billy!" he -called cheerfully. "Is it you?" - -"Yes, teacher." Billy came close to him and the two stood for a long -time in the silence of mute understanding. Then the boy delivered -the message just as Erie had whispered it. Stanhope did not speak. -He simply lifted his face to the stars, eyes streaming, lips moving -dumbly. Billy moved softly away through the shadows. - -Next day was Sunday and Billy did not like Sundays. They meant the -scrubbing of his face, ears and neck with "Old Brown Windsor" soap -until it fairly cracked if he so much as smiled, and being lugged off -with his parents and Anse to early forenoon Sunday School in the -little frame church in the Valley. There was nothing interesting -about Sunday School; it was the same old hum-drum over and over -again--same lessons, same teachers, same hymns, same tunes; with -Deacon Ringold's assertive voice cutting in above all the other -voices both in lessons and singing and with Mrs. Scraff's shrill -treble reciting, for her class's edification, her pet verse: "Am I -nothing to thee, all ye who pass by?"--only Mrs. Scraff always -improvised more or less on the scriptures, and usually threw the -verse defiantly from her in this form: "You ain't nuthin to me, all -you who pass me by." - -Billy knew exactly what he was going to hear at Sunday School, and -what he was going to see, and there wasn't much of interest in that -for a live boy. Consequently he was quite unprepared for the -unexpected shock he received on this particular morning, when he -trailed dejectedly into the Sunday School room behind his mother and -Anson. - -As he passed up the aisle something strange and mysterious seemed to -draw his eyes toward a certain spot. He looked and there, gazing at -him from eyes of blue, rose-bud lips half parted in a smile, was a -girl--and such a girl! - -Billy stood stock still in the aisle and stared at the vision of -loveliness. She was dressed in white and her hair was curly and as -golden as that of the pictured angel in his mother's Bible. Never -before had he seen such a gloriously beautiful creature. - -He became conscious that the droning hum of teachers and classes had -given place to hushed calm; that all eyes were turned upon him, -standing there in the aisle and staring at this picture of absolute -perfection. With an effort he drew his eyes away and stumbled -forward to his place in elass. - -Several times during the next half hour Billy, allowing his gaze to -wander across the church, caught those blue eyes fastened upon him -and his heart began to flutter strangely. An ungovernable desire to -misbehave himself took possession of him. Never in his life had his -head felt so light--unless it was the night when he and Maurice had -inadvertently mistaken hard cider for sweet and had nearly disgraced -themselves. He was not even aware of who was beside him on his seat, -until a pair of stubby fingers pinched his leg and he came down to -earth to look into Jim Scroggie's grinning face. - -"Oh, hello," he whispered, coldly. He was irritated at such -unwarranted interruption of his soul-feast. He settled low in his -seat and pretended to give his attention to the teacher, Cobin Keeler. - -Tim nudged him. "What you think of her?" he asked proudly. - -Billy frowned. "Who?" - -Jim nodded across to the girl in white. "That's Lou," he informed -Billy, "my sister." - -Billy gave such a perceptible start that he knocked the "Sunday -Lesson Helps" sheet out of the hands of Elgin Scraff, on his left. -That this snub-nosed, flat-faced, beefy boy beside him could possibly -be a brother to the dainty, angelic creature who had caused his heart -to turn such violent flip-flops and disorganize his whole mental -poise was inconceivable. - -And still, it must be true. Immediately his manner towards Scroggie -underwent a change. All the antipathy that a woods-born boy can feel -toward a city-bred one vanished suddenly at the intelligence imparted -to him. It was the look of true comradeship, the smile that always -won him confidence and fidelity, that he gave Jim now, as he -whispered: "Any time you want'a borrie my shot-gun, Jim, jest let me -know." - -Scroggie beamed. Being the son of his father he lacked nothing in -astuteness. He realized, as all brothers realize sooner or later, -that a pretty sister is an asset. - -"An' the punt too?" he asked. - -Billy nodded. Jim, had he but known it, might have had everything -Billy owned, including Croaker, Ringdo, Moll and the pups. - -Mr. Keeler had finished the reading of the lesson, skipping most of -the big words and laying particular stress on those he was sure of, -and had stood up facing his class of boys, to ask them certain -questions pertaining to the lesson, thereby bringing all whispered -conversation to a halt. He cleared his throat and ran a critical eye -down the line of upturned faces. When Mr. Keeler asked a question it -was in a booming voice that carried from pulpit to ante-room of the -building. - -"Kin any boy in this here class tell me why Christ walked on the sea -of Galilee?" he now asked. - -Nobody answered. Billy, casting a quick glance across the aisle, -found Lou Scroggie's blue eyes watching him intently. They seemed to -say "Surely, you can answer that." - -Billy shifted uneasily in his seat. He was sorry now that he had not -paid closer attention to the reading of the lesson. - -"Why did Christ walk on the sea of Galilee?" repeated Mr. Keeler, -folding his arms impressively and looking hard at Billy, who once -more shot a side-long glance across the room. The blue eyes were -wide open with wonder and astonishment now, that he could not answer -so simple a question as that. Billy's mind worked with lightning -speed. He would answer that question if it cost him his life. -Promptly he stood up. - -Mr. Keeler looked surprised; so did Billy's class-mates; so did all -members of all the classes and the teachers. So did Billy himself. -The drowsy hum of reciting voices died suddenly and a great stillness -succeeded it. It seemed to Billy that he was standing alone on top -of a flimsy scaffold, hundreds of feet in the air, waiting for Mr. -Keeler, high executioner, to spring the trap-door that would launch -him into oblivion. - -He glanced at the window. It was raised but a few inches; exit was -effectively closed in that direction. He made up his mind to reach -for his hat and walk with dignity from the class, the church and -those soulless, sinister-faced people who watched and waited -gloatingly for his downfall. No, there was still a better plan. He -would stagger and grope his way out like one who had been suddenly -stricken with sickness. Yes, that was what he would do. - -Then through the haze of uncertainty two wide blue eyes seemed to -meet his own; eyes that smiled to him confidence in his ability to -make good; eyes that said as plainly as words: "I knew you could do -it." - -Billy braced himself. At the same time he caught a glimpse of -Anson's leering face and inwardly vowed that that young man should -have plenty of reason to regret that leer. - -Mr. Keeler was leaning across the back of the long seat, smiling -commendingly upon him. - -"William Wilson will tell us why Christ walked on the sea of -Galilee," he boomed. "Come William, answer up, my boy." - -Billy drew in his breath hard. He fully intended that none of those -straining ears should miss his answer. Suddenly it had come to him -that it was an easy question to answer; there could in fact be but -one answer to it. - -"_Because He didn't have no boat!_" - -In the deep silence following his answer Billy sat down. Then a -murmur of gasps, whispers and giggles grew up, which died suddenly to -silence again, as Mr. Keeler's voice rang out. - -"Correct! Now, boys, we will get on with our lesson." - -During the closing hymn Billy managed to evade the eyes of his elders -long enough to slip outside. He wanted to be alone--alone to ponder -over this great and wonderful thing that had come into his life. It -was love--yes it certainly was love, strong worshipful love such as -comes to but few, and to those few only once. Such love had made -Trigger Finger Tim leap a fifty-foot chasm, swim a swift, -ice-encumbered river and fight single-handed a band of painted -savages to free his sweetheart from their murderous clutches. Billy -knew that he would do as much for _her_! - -He strayed into the beech grove sighing, striving to realize all that -had suddenly happened to him. Never in all his dreams had he -imagined such a face could belong to mortal girl. He must see her -again--yes, he must see her soon again--perhaps speak with her. The -very thought of it made him dizzy. - -He wanted to tear up a sapling by the roots and bust something with -it, wanted to shout, wanted to let all the world know his joy. But -he didn't. He compromised by standing on his head and walking the -full length of the mossy grove on his hands. - -That day at dinner for the first time in his life he found it -impossible to eat. Food choked him. He left the others eating, with -a word or two about having eaten heartily of thimble-berries and not -caring for anything more. - -Out in the shed he found Moll, anxious over one of her pups which -seemed stupid and sick. Billy picked up the pup and cuddled it. He -found himself crying over its sniffling whimpers of pain. Love is a -grand thing if only because of the softening influence it exerts in -the savage breast of man. Billy could not remember ever having -actually cried over a sick puppy before. It was as though she stood -there, white hands clasped, blue eyes filled with commiseration, the -gold of her hair forming a halo above her bent head. He could almost -hear her voice saying: "Great, tender heart, cease thy tears. Am I -not close beside thee to help thee bear thy sorrow?" That's what -Avilee Rochaw had said to Trigger Finger, in the book. - -He put the pup tenderly down beside its mother and went out behind -the wood-pile to wait for Anse. He wanted to tell him that he -forgave him for being such a low-down tattle-tale and the meanest -brother that ever lived. That's what _she_ would have him do, he -knew. He was a changed being. If he was to win her love, he was -going to be worthy. - -He waited for an hour but Anson did not come. How was he to know -that Billy had undergone a change of heart? Had he not caught the -cold glint in Billy's eyes, when he had sneered at him in the class? -Previous experiences had taught him caution. He had watched his -brother go out behind the wood-pile and had promptly made tracks in -the opposite direction. - -At supper time Billy's appetite had not returned. He did make -something of a pretense at eating but it did not deceive the eyes of -his watchful mother, who for reasons of her own restrained herself -from making any reference to his mopishness. - -That night as he was undressing for bed Mrs. Wilson came softly up -the stairs, a tumbler half filled with a smoky liquid in one hand, a -black strap in the other. - -"Here, you Willium," she commanded, "you drink these here salts and -not a word out o' you, or I'll tan you good and plenty." - -Billy turned slowly, his fingers fumbling with his cotton braces. He -looked at the noxious dose in the tumbler, then at his mother's face. -"All right," he said gently, "I'll take 'em, Ma; give 'em here." - -His mother gasped. Whatever was coming over the boy, she wondered. -Never before had she been able to get a dose of medicine down him -without a struggle. There could be only one answer. He was -sick--sicker than he let on. - -She set the glass on the little table and let the strap slip to the -floor. She put her hands on his shoulders and turned him about so -that the light fell full on his face. She saw that it was really -pale--yes, and wistful. Anse had told her about having seen Billy -kiss the pup and cry over it. Now a lump came into her throat as she -looked into the grey, unwavering eyes. With a sob, she threw her -arms about his neck and drew him close to her. Billy patted her -shoulder and let her cry. He could not guess her reason for it, but -for that matter he could not understand why he was crying too, unless -indeed it was his great and worshipful love still working overtime. - -Mrs. Wilson subsided at last and wiped her eyes on her apron. Then -she took Billy's face between her hands and kissed him on the -freckled nose. "I know how much you miss your own Ma, Willium," she -said, "and I know I kin never take her place, but I love you, an' it -worries me awful to think anythin' might happen to you." - -"Nuthin's goin' to happen to me, Ma," Billy assured her. "I'm -feelin' bully. Don't you worry none." - -Mrs. Wilson sighed. "Well, if you're sure you don't need these here -salts--" she lifted the glass and stood hesitating, "why, I don't -s'pose there's re'lly any call fer you to take 'em. It seems too bad -to waste 'em, though." - -Billy turned toward Anson's bed, from which, for the second time, he -was sure had come a faint titter. "I was thinkin'," he said in -answer to his mother's quick look, "that it wouldn't hurt Anse none -to have a dose. He does grit his teeth somethin' awful when he's -asleep." - -"You don't tell me, Willium! Why then, salts is jest what he needs. -I'll wake him up an' give 'em to him." - -* * * * * - -It was long after his mother had left the loft and Anse's wails of -protest and wild promises of vengeance had given place to the regular -breathing of peaceful sleep that Billy lay awake, gazing wide-eyed -through the dark. - -Above him bent a face with tender blue eyes and red, half-smiling -lips beneath a crowning glory as golden as frost-pinched maple leaf. -And she would be at school in the morning! It was while pondering on -how he might contrive to wear his Sunday clothes on the morrow that -Billy fell asleep to dream that he was old man Scroggie's ghost and -that he was sitting in the centre of Lake Erie with the big hardwoods -bush on his knees, waiting for _her_ to come that he might present it -all to her. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -THE DREAD DAY DAWNS - -It was broad daylight when Anson, in response to an angry call from -the bottom of the stairway, sat up in bed. Vaguely he realized that -in some dire way this glad morning proclaimed a day of doom, but his -drowsy senses were still leaping vast chasms of dreamland--striving -to slip from the control of saner reasoning and drift away with a -happy abandon of dire results to follow. What boy has not had the -same experience, even although he knew that a razor-strop, wielded by -a vigorous hand, would in all probability accomplish quickly what his -drowsy will had failed to accomplish? Anson was just dropping off -into the lulling arms of Morpheus when that extra sense, possessed by -all boys in a measure and by certain boys in particular, warned him -back to wakefulness and a realization of his danger. - -He was out of bed and pulling his braces over his shoulders by the -time the heavy footsteps of his mother sounded at the top of the -stairs. - -"You, Anse!" came Mrs. Wilson's voice. "Have I gotta limber you up -with the strap, after all?" - -"Comin', Ma," responded Anse, sleepily. - -"Well, you'd best come quick, then. You'll be gettin' enough hidin's -today--if that new teacher's any good--without me havin' to wear my -arm out on you 'fore breakfast." - -Anson stood still, fumbling the buttons. So that was it! School! -He knew it was some awful catastrophe. Where was Billy? He glanced -across at the other bed. Billy was not in it. He went slowly -downstairs, washed himself, and went in to breakfast. Billy was not -there. His father was just getting up from the table. - -"Where's Bill?" Anson asked him. - -"Down feedin' his pets, most likely," answered his father as he went -out. A moment or two later Billy came in. The boys seated -themselves in their places and ate their breakfast in silence. - -"Is our dinner up, Ma?" Billy asked, as he pushed back his chair. - -Mrs. Wilson nodded. "It is. Two pieces of bread an' butter an' a -doughnut an' a tart fer each of you. Is it enough?" - -"I guess so," Billy replied indifferently. - -Anson eyed him suspiciously, then turned to his mother. "I wish't -you'd do our dinners up separate, Ma," he whined. - -"Why?" asked Mrs. Wilson, in surprise. - -"Well, 'cause Bill hogs it, that's why," complained Anson. "Last -time we had tarts I didn't get none. An' it's the same with pie an' -cake." - -Mrs. Wilson gazed sternly at Billy. "Willium, do you take Anson's -tarts and pie?" she asked ominously. - -"Yes, ma'am," answered Billy, promptly. - -"There now!" exulted Anson, glancing triumphantly at his mother, who -sat staring and incredulous at the unabashed offender. - -Billy looked gravely down at his accuser, then apprehensively at his -judge. As no immediate sentence seemed forthcoming he turned toward -the door. - -"Stop!" Mrs. Wilson had risen suddenly from her chair and stood -pointing an accusing finger at Billy. - -"You'll ketch it fer this, an' don't you ferget it," she stormed, -"an' if I ever hear of you gobblin' up Anson's share o' the lunch -ag'in, you young glutton, you'll go to school fer a month without any -lunch a'tall." - -Billy turned. "I didn't say I ate Anson's pie an' cake, Ma," he said -gently. "I didn't take it 'cause I wanted it." - -"Then why did you take it a'tall, I want'a know?" - -"I took it 'cause I thought it was bad fer him. You see, Ma, Anse -suffers turrible from indigestion," Billy explained. "'Course maybe -you don't notice it same as I do, 'cause you don't sleep in the same -room with him. But Ma, he groans an' gasps all night--an' he has the -most awful dreams--now don't you Anse?" he asked, turning to his -brother. - -Anson started to whimper. "I do have bad dreams," he confessed -miserably, "but pie an' tarts ain't to blame fer it." - -"Silence, you!" Mrs. Wilson reached for the dinner-pail and -proceeded to extract from it one tart, one doughnut. "I guess maybe -your brother's right," she said grimly. "If that's the way you carry -on nights we'll hold you off pastry fer a while. Now then, grab that -pail and off to school with both o' you!" - -Billy was outside first and waiting for Anson at the road gate when -he came down the path, dejectedly wiping his eyes and vowing -inaudible threats at the agent of his new woe. - -"Now, then," said Billy as he came up, "maybe you'll begin to see -that it don't pay to blab so danged much." - -"It was dirty mean of you," sniffled Anson. "You know how much I -like pie an' tarts; an' here I am havin' to lug yourn an' gettin' -none fer myself. Fer two cents I'd chuck this dinner-pail in the -crick." - -"An' fer two cents I'd punch that crooked eye of yourn straight," -cried Billy, his temper rising. "You'd best close your mouth while -the closin's good, an' if anythin' happens to that pail you're goin' -to hear from me." - -They passed on in silence until the hardwood grove came in sight. -Here Billy paused. "You go on, Anse," he said. "I'm goin' over to -the menagerie fer a look over things. An' see here." He grabbed his -brother's shoulder and swung him about. "I'm goin' to tell you -something an' if you so much as peep it to Ma I'm goin' to pass the -word to Ringdo an Croaker that they're free to do what they like to -you; see?" - -Anson shuddered. "Aw, who's goin' to peep?' he returned. - -"All right then. Now listen. This mornin' I tied my Sunday clothes -up an' throwed 'em out our winder. Then I got up an' sneaked 'em -over to the menagerie. I'm goin' to wear 'em to school. Never you -mind why, it's none of your business. When I blow into school this -mornin' dressed to kill I don't want you to look too darned -surprised, that's all. Now if you'll keep your mouth shut tight -about that I promise not to let my witch-coon an' witch-crow eat you -while you sleep; an' I'll tell you what else I'll do, I'll give you -my tart an' my doughnut. Is it a bargain?" - -Anson nodded eagerly. - -"All hunky. Now you move along, an' if you happen to meet Fatty -Watland, er Maurice, er any other boys, don't you let on a word about -this." - -"I won't," promised Anson. "Cross my heart, Bill." - -Billy ducked into the path through the grove and Anson resumed his -reluctant pace toward the Valley School. On the bridge across Levee -creek he came up with Elgin Scraff. Elgin was standing with his arms -on the bridge rail, looking dejectedly down into the water. - -"Hello," Anson accosted. "Goin' to school?" - -Elgin lifted his head slowly. "Yep, you?" - -Anson nodded and set the dinner-pail down on the bridge. - -"Where's Bill?" - -"He'll be along soon. Here he comes now; no 'taint neither, it's -Fatty Watland. Wonder where he's been up that way?" - -Watland came puffing up, his round face red and perspiring. "Gee!" -he panted, "I've been all the way to the store. Had to get some -sulphur fer Ma. She found a wood-tick that old Sport scratched off -him on the floor, an' she swears it's a bed-bug; an' now she's goin' -to burn this sulphur in all the rooms." - -A grin rippled across his face and grew into a chuckle. "I bet I -sleep in the barn fer a week. I sure hate the smell of sulphur." - -"Come on," said Elgin, "let's move on down to the sehoolhouse." Side -by side the three passed on up the hill and down into the valley. - -The sehoolhouse stood with a wide sloping green before it and a -tangle of second growth forest behind it. It was not an old -building, but had the appearance of senile old age. Its coat of -cheap terra-cotta paint had cracked into many wrinkles; its windows -looked dully out like the lustreless eyes of an old, old man. The -ante-room roof had been blown off by a winter's gale and replaced -inaccurately, so that it set awry, jaunty and defiant, challenging -the world. Its door hung on one hinge, leaning sleepily against a -knife-scarred wall. A rail fence ran about the yard which was filled -to choking with a rank growth of smart-weed. In one corner of the -yard was a well with a faded blue pump holding the faded red arm of a -handle toward the skies, as though evoking high heaven to bear -witness that it was never intended to lead such a lonely and useless -existence. - -The boys approached the building slowly and as they neared its sombre -portals silence fell upon them. They opened the creaking gate and -entered the building much after the manner of heroes who must stand -blindfolded against a wall and wait the word "Fire!" They had to go -through with it, that was all. - -The building held all the unmistakable odors of a school room. The -smell of chalk dust, mouldy bread crusts, mice, dirty slates and -musty books rose up to smite the arrivals. Four rows of pine seats, -blackened with ink-daubs and deeply scarred by pocket-knives, ran the -entire length of the building. A big box stove stood in the centre -of the room, its wavering pipe supported by wires from the ceiling. - -Walter Watland looked about for a good place in which to conceal his -package of sulphur and decided that in the empty stove he had -discovered the place of all places. So, while Anson and Elgin were -investigating the teacher's desk and picking out their seats, he -proceeded to hide his sulphur in the stove's black depths. Then he -went outside with his companions to await the coming of the new -teacher. - -Scarcely had the three seated themselves on the top rail of the yard -fence than from all directions other pupils of the Settlement began -to arrive. Sand Sharkers, sullen and defiant, holding themselves -apart, came in one big group. - -Jim Scroggie entered the school yard with his sister by his side. He -paused a moment to let his eyes stray to the faces of the three -hopefuls on the fence, conjecturing with a boy's intuition that in -this trio he saw some of the ring-leaders of the school. Jim wore a -smart tweed coat and knickerbockers, and a shirt of grey flannel with -a soft silk tie. His sister, Lou, was dressed daintily in white, -with soft blue collar that matched the glorious depths of her eyes. -She smiled now, and the three on the fence immediately underwent a -change of heart. Elgin Scraff was the first to slide down and -approach the new boy in a spirit of fellowship. - -"Hello," he said genially. "I've got a crackin' good seat. You kin -set with me if you like." - -Jim shook his head. "Promised Billy Wilson I'd sit with him," he -said. "Kin you tell me where he's goin' to sit?" - -Elgin was about to answer when he caught a gasp from the watchers on -the road. "Teacher's comin'!" went forth the cry. - -Down the hill came a thin, rangy bay horse, astride which, an open -book in his hand, sat Mr. G. G. Johnston. As he drew up in front of -the gate he closed the book and turned his frowning eyes on the -building. Utterly ignoring the awed, watching faces he shook his -head grimly and, looking to neither right nor left, rode in through -the open gate. Not until he had unbridled his horse and turned him -loose to seek a breakfast as best he knew how, while he investigated -the school's interior, did the boys and girls outside give way to -their feelings. - -Then Maurice Keeler whistled. "Whew! Ain't he the old human -icicle?" he asked. - -"You bet!" came the spontaneous answer. - -"Gosh," cried Elgin Scraff, "there goes the bell! Come on everybody; -let's get our medicine." - -Just as the boys and girls were settling down in their seats and Jim -Scroggie was glancing anxiously doorward Billy strode in. He was -resplendent in his Sunday best and wore a wild thorn blossom in his -button hole. He glanced quickly about the room and caught the glint -and sunlight for which he hungered--a smile from the lips of Lou -Scroggie. Then he seized Jack LaRose by the scruff of the neck, -jerked him from the seat near the door and motioned Jim Scroggie -over. "We'll set here," he whispered. "It's close to the outside in -case we have to make a quick get-away." - -The new teacher paid no attention to the little scrimmage between -LaRose and Billy. He stood on the platform, tall, spare, -hard-featured and stern, and let his black eyes bore into the souls -of the pupils, one after the other. Not until the silence of -suspense was almost unbearable did he speak; then clearing his throat -he gave forth in stern tones the following edict: - -"Boys and girls, I am your teacher. I shall expect you to obey me -implicitly. If you do not, I shall punish you. I am here to teach -you; you are here to learn and profit from my teaching. I have heard -bad reports of most of you, but for the present I shall refrain from -mentioning any names. When in the school-room you will be allowed to -address me as 'Sir.' Outside the school-room you will not address me -in any manner whatsoever." - -He paused to survey the rows of uplifted faces and let his words sink -home. Then lifting a long hickory pointer from his desk, and holding -it much as a conjuror might hold his wand, he gripped the edge of the -desk with one bony hand and leaning forward, said: - -"Boys and girls, from what has been told me I surmise that my -predecessor has spoiled you. I do not censure him; undoubtedly he -worked according to his lights. I have been twenty years a teacher. -I am your superior in strength, wisdom and intellect; and this I want -you always to keep in mind. I shall tolerate neither familiarity nor -disobedience. You will do well to obey me without question and do, -worthily, the tasks I set for you. I believe in administering -punishment to wrong-doers, severe punishment. It is not my purpose -to deceive either you or the ratepayers of this school; therefore, I -will admit that I like neither this district nor its people. That, -however, will not prevent me from fulfilling my duty to the best of -my ability." - -He ceased speaking and drew himself up slowly, pursing his stern -lips. "That is all I have to say for the time being," he said. "We -shall endeavor to air this building, after which we will form -classes. Will the fat boy with the rumpled hair and dirty neck, the -one who is whispering to the boy behind him, be good enough to step -forward?" - -All eyes switched from the teacher to Fatty Watland. Fatty, his face -very red, rose slowly and stood before the frowning Mr. Johnston. - -"What is your name, boy?" asked the teacher. - -"Walter Watland." - -"Walter Watland--what?" - -"That's all. Jest Walter Watland." - -Mr. Johnston frowned darkly. "Walter Watland--what?" he repeated. - -"Sir," prompted a voice from the back seat. - -"Walter Watland, sir," panted Fatty, glimpsing the light in the nick -of time. - -"Very well, Walter, you may go home and get a pail of water. My -experience with school wells," glancing out of the window to the blue -pump, "has been that during the holidays they become a veritable -death trap for frogs, mice and other vermin." - -Walter moved quickly to execute the order. Mr. Johnston addressed -the rest of the pupils. "School is now dismissed until we raise the -windows and air the room." - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -THE METTLE OF THE BREED - -Immediately thirty boys and girls leaped to their feet and windows -went up with a bang. - -"I think," Mr. Johnson's voice was heard above the din, "it would be -a good plan to start a fire in that big stove. This place is -positively vault like with dampness." - -A number of the boys ran out to gather kindling and wood and soon a -fire was crackling in the stove. - -"Pupils will now take their seats," commanded the teacher, tinkling -the bell on his desk. There was a hurried scramble as each boy and -girl found his and her place. - -"We will now have--" resumed the teacher, then paused to glare -angrily at the stove. From every crack in its rusty sides was -pouring forth a whitish-yellow smoke that gripped the throat and -smelled like a breath from the very pit of darkness. Mr. Johnston -attempted to proceed and failed dismally. He was choking, as was -every boy and girl in the room. - -It was Billy Wilson who acted promptly. Running to the stove he -opened the door and lifted out the blazing wood and, at the risk of -scorching himself badly, ran with it from the room. - -It was nearly half an hour before Mr. Johnston summoned the boys and -girls from the open windows to their seats. The room still smelled -strongly of sulphur, but one might still breathe and live. - -In the interval of waiting for the air to clear the new teacher's -face had turned a ghastly white. His black eyes blazed; his thin -lips were drawn back from his strong, irregular teeth. Gazing upon -him, the boys and girls quaked in apprehension. Their fears were -well founded. Never before in all his long career in administering -knowledge to grubby and inferior minds had Mr. G. G. Johnston been -subject to such deadly insult as had been offered him here. It was -fully a minute before he could command his voice sufficiently to -speak and when he did the words trickled through his stiff lips -thinly. - -"Boys and girls," he said at length, "one or more of you have been -guilty of the most unpardonable misdemeanor that has ever come under -my observation as a teacher. I realize that the dirty trick has been -deliberately planned, the motive being perhaps to test me. You may -believe me when I inform you that the one who placed that sulphur in -the stove will have plenty of reason to regret having done it. I -intend to flog him--or her--until he--or she--cannot stand. I shall -now ask the one who is guilty of the offense to stand up." - -Nobody stood. Anson was on the point of jumping to his feet and -telling who had brought the sulphur into the room but, on second -thought, sat still. The teacher had asked who had put it in the -stove. Certainly it had not been Fatty Watland, because he had gone -on an errand for the teacher long before the fire was started. - -Mr. Johnston smiled darkly and nodded. "As I thought. The one who -did it is too much of a coward to confess it," he grated, his voice -shaking. "Well, there remains but one thing to do. If the guilty -party is to be punished, I must punish you one and all." - -There was the sound of the quick intaking of breath, and an audible -long-drawn "Oh!" from the girls. - -"I must punish each and every one of you," Mr. Johnston reiterated, -picking up the pointer. "I shall begin on the boy who is smiling so -defiantly in the back seat, if he will be good enough to step up -here." - -"I guess that's me," said Billy, jumping to his feet and starting for -the platform. - -"That's a nice smile you wear," said Mr. Johnston scathingly as he -gazed down at Billy, his bony fingers caressing the long, supple -pointer. - -"Glad you like it," said Billy. - -"Eh? What's that?" Mr. Johnston fairly recoiled in surprise and -indignation at the affront to his dignity. "Silence! boys and -girls," he shouted, as a titter ran through the schoolroom. - -"Now young man," he said grimly, grasping one of Billy's hands and -pulling it forward and out, "I'm going to drive that happy smile from -your face." - -"You're a'goin' to find that some job," said Billy quietly. - -"Well, we'll see, young Mr. Impudence." The long pointer rose and -fell. Billy caught the stroke full on his palm. His face whitened -with pain, but the smile did not leave his lips. - -"Your other hand," commanded Mr. Johnston. - -He bent forward to grasp the hand which Billy raised slowly, thereby -dodging a stone ink-bottle hurled by Maurice Keeler. At it was the -bottle struck the blackboard and broke, deluging the teacher's face -with a sable spray. - -Billy turned quickly. "No more of that," he said. "This is my -funeral--and the teacher's. Everybody else keep out of it." - -He squared his shoulders and held out his hand. The pointer came -down with all the strength that the man dared put behind it. -Johnston peered closely into the boy's face. It was white and -quivering but it still wore a smile. - -"Take your seat," commanded the teacher. "Next boy forward!" One by -one the boys walked up to receive their punishment. All took it -bravely. - -When, at last, the boys had all been attended to, Mr. Johnston paused -for rest. "I shall now begin on the girls," he said, "but before -administering punishment I am going to give the guilty boy, or girl, -one more chance to confess. Will the one who put the sulphur in the -stove stand up?" - -As before, nobody moved. - -Mr. Johnston smiled. "Very well. The girl with the handkerchief to -her eyes, the one dressed in white and blue, five seats down, will -come forward for punishment." - -Billy felt his blood run cold. He could not believe his ears. The -girl dressed in white and blue! Why, that was she--his angel--his -light--his everything. And she was crying now. She was standing up, -moving forward. - -Like a flash Billy was on his feet. "Stop!" he cried, his voice -ringing out like a challenge. "You don't whip her if I know it." - -For the second time that morning Mr. Johnston received a violent -shock to his dignity. Such rank insubordination he had never -experienced before. The black eyes turned on Billy fairly darting -sparks. "Take your seat, you impudent boy!" he thundered, "I see I -have been too lenient with you. When I am through with the girls I -shall flog you until you cry for mercy, and with you the boy who -threw that bottle." - -Billy was running up the aisle. - -"Please sir, don't whip her," he said, pleadingly. "I'll own up. It -was me that put the sulphur in the stove." - -"You?" gasped Mr. Johnston. "You coward! to let your companions be -punished for your despicable act. Oh," he exulted, removing his coat -and rolling up his sleeves, "won't I make you pay for playing the -sneak?" - -Billy was giving no attention to the teacher. He was edging towards -Lou Scroggie, who stood looking at him from dumb, pleading eyes. - -"Go outside," he whispered. "Please do; I kin stand anythin', but I -don't want you to see it." - -She turned slowly away, then came back and put her hands on his -shoulders. She did not speak but the look she gave him was enough. -His heart laughed. He turned toward the teacher with so glad a light -in his grey eyes that the schooled moulder of young souls gazed back -at him in bewilderment. - -Was this the brand of boy this Shagland Settlement bred, he wondered. -If so, God help him and his precepts. - -From the bottom of his heart he wished that he had never seen the -place, never encountered the spirit of its woods-born. He knew his -capabilities and for once in his life, he confessed to himself, he -had over-estimated them. He wanted to give this boy now standing so -fearlessly before him a whipping such as he would remember to his -dying day, but to save his life he couldn't enter into the task with -his old-time zest--not with those clear eyes looking so -contemptuously into his very soul. - -The room had grown still--a graveyard hush, broken only by a sob from -the tenderest-hearted of the girls, who knew that Billy had lied to -save one of their sex. - -Johnston had turned to his desk and secured a shorter, stronger -pointer. The veins between his shaggy eyebrows stood out clearly -defined as he motioned Billy up on the platform. - -It was just at this juncture that Fatty Watland arrived; smiling and -panting, with the pail, borrowed from his mother, full of drinking -water. It took him but a moment to learn from one of the boys what -had transpired. It took him still less time to reach the platform. -There, with much humiliation of spirit and many "sirs," he explained -to the greatly surprised, and it must be confessed, secretly relieved -Mr. Johnston, the true state of affairs. - -There was no doubt in the world that Fatty regretted the part he had -so unwittingly played in the day's disaster. He was sufficiently -apologetic and low spirited to satisfy even the new teacher, who was -content to let him off with a lecture. - -Mr. Johnston then briefly stated to his pupils that a mistake had -been made. He did not say that he was sorry. That would have been -an untruth. He did say that Billy deserved another whipping for -lying, but under the circumstances he would excuse him, as he had -already received unmerited punishment. - -At the close of his first day in the Valley School Mr. Johnston was -forced to confess that he had considerable work before him. Had he -been able to read the future and learn just what he would be obliged -to undergo as teacher of that school, without doubt he would have -climbed on the back of his thin horse and ridden straight away from -Scotia Settlement, never to return. But he could not read what the -future held, consequently he rode slowly towards Fairfield that first -evening with the righteous feeling of one who had performed a -difficult task well and satisfactorily--at least to himself. - -Back in the schoolyard a real old fashioned indignation meeting was -being held by thirty lusty boys and girls. That any man, teacher or -no teacher, should come into their beloved Settlement and announce -that he had no use for it or its people and go on his way unscathed -was beyond all understanding. Something would have to be done about -it; but what? It was Billy who climbed up on the school fence, -called order and offered the one sure solution to the problem. - -"I guess we don't want'a keep him, do we?" he asked of his companions. - -"No. No!" came in chorus. - -"All right; that's settled. But listen, now, every one of you. He's -gotta go of his own accord. We're not goin' to be disobedient in any -way. Fer a time we'll eat out'a his hand. Now wait--" as a groan of -protest went up--"let me finish afore you get the high-jumps, you -fellers. At the end of two er three weeks somethin' is goin' to -happen to Mr. Johnston. I'm not goin' to say what that somethin' is -right now, but you'll all know soon enough. And if after it happens -he's got nerve enough to come back here I miss my guess, that's all." - -"Hurrah!" shouted the delighted boys. "We knowed you'd find a way to -fix him, Billy." - -Billy climbed down from the fence and his supporters gathered about -him, eager to secure the details of his plan but he shook his head. -"You kin jest leave it all to me, an' one er two others I'm goin' to -pick to help me," he said. "It's soon enough fer you to know how we -do it when it's done. Now, everybody go home." - -Apparently quite by accident he found himself standing beside Lou -Scroggie and the two fell into step together. They were the last to -take the winding path toward the main road. An embarrassed silence -fell between them, a silence which remained unbroken until they -reached the creek bridge. Then the girl said shyly: "Do you mind if -I call you Billy?" - -Billy had to stifle his emotion and swallow twice before he answered: -"That's what I'd like you to call me. I'll bet you can't say it, -though." - -"Oh, I can so!" - -"Well, let's hear you, then." - -He bent his head and held his breath, oblivious to everything save -the ecstasy of that moment. - -"Billy," she half-whispered, then hiding her flushed face in her -hands she turned and ran from him. - -Billy did not follow. Something, perhaps the primitive man in him, -cautioned the unwisdom of so doing. From the dim, far-back ages -woman has run and man has pursued. But a few wise men have waited. - -So Billy watched her passing like a ray of soft light across the -valley and around the golden curve of the road. Then with his arms -on the bridge-rail, his eyes gazing deep into the amber depths of the -water, he lived anew every moment of her nearness, until the hoarse, -joyful cry of a crow broke in on his reverie. Croaker, having grown -lonely, had come down to meet him. - -So with the bird perched on his shoulders, muttering a strange jargon -of endearments and throaty chuckles in his ear, Billy turned up the -path, thinking still of a pair of blue eyes and a voice that had -called him "Billy." - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -CROAKER BRINGS A GIFT - -It was Sunday. Anson, with eyes close-shut and suds dripping from -his freckled nose, was having his weekly ear and neck cleansing, his -mother's strong hands applying the coarse wash-cloth. Billy stood -by, anticipating his turn, his eyes straying occasionally to the long -"muzzle-loader" hanging on the deer-prong rack. Tomorrow the -duck-season opened and he was wondering how he was going to contrive -to sneak the old gun down and give it a thorough cleaning. Suddenly -he became aware that operations in the vicinity of the wash-basin had -become suspended. He glanced across to find his mother's gaze fixed -sternly upon him. Anson was looking mightily pleased. - -"I want'a know how you got them ink blots on your good clothes. Have -you been a'wearin' 'em to school?" asked Mrs. Wilson. - -So that was it? Anson had "peached"! Billy swallowed hard. His -mind reviewed the days of the past two weeks. Again he saw a pair of -blue eyes, misty with love and feeling; heard a voice whose cadence -was sweeter than honey saying, "My! Billy, you are so different from -any other boy I've ever met; and you always wear such nice clothes, -too." Oh those wonderful, joy-filled days! What boy would not have -risked far more than he had risked to win such commendation from the -girl of all girls. - -"Well?" His mother's voice dispelled the vision. "Are you goin' to -answer me, Willium?" - -Billy squared his shoulders. Yes, he would do as she would wish. He -would confess. But the best of intentions go oft awry and Billy's -present ones were suddenly sidetracked by a giggle from Anson, a -giggle freighted with malice, triumph and devilish joy at his -predicament. - -Now, a boy may make up his mind to die a hero, but no boy cares to be -ushered out by gibes and "I-told-you-so's." Billy promptly adopted -new tactics. "This ain't my suit, Ma," he said. - -Mrs. Wilson started so at his words that she rammed the cake of soap -into Anson's mouth. - -"Not yourn? Then whose is it?" she cried in amazement. - -"It's Anse's. We must have got 'em mixed when we was dressin'." - -"Willium, are you lyin' to me? If you are it's goin' to be the -costliest lie you ever told." - -Billy returned her angry gaze without a flicker of an eyelid. The -reproach in his grey eyes was enough to make any mother ashamed of -having doubted, and, as a matter of natural consequence, anger her -the more. "How do you know that's Anson's suit?" she shot at Billy, -between rubs. "How do you know it, you young imp, you?" - -Billy moved forward, halting a safe distance from his mother. -"You'll remember, Ma, that Anse's pants has two hip pockets, an mine -only one." - -"Yes, that's so." - -"An' his coat has two inside pockets, an' mine only one." - -"I remember that, too. Well?" - -Billy removed the coat he was wearing and passed it over to his -mother. She turned it inside out, and inspected it closely. - -"That's Anson's coat all right," she affirmed. "Now twist about so's -I kin see them hip pockets in the pants." - -Billy did so. Then, there being nothing more left to do, he stepped -back to watch the fireworks. - -Stunned into inaction by the ease and suddenness with which Billy had -turned the tables against him Anson had only time to take one longing -glance toward the door. His mother had lifted the razor-strop from -its nail and as he made a frenzied leap toward safety her strong hand -gripped him by the wet hair. "Swish" fell the strop and Anson's wail -of woe rent the Sabbath air. In vain he squirmed, cried, protested -his innocence. - -Having gotten nicely warmed up to her work Mrs. Wilson turned a deaf -ear to his wails. "You would try to put off your dirty tracks on -your brother, would you?" Swish-swish. "I'll teach you to wear your -good clothes to school. I'll teach you to lie to me, you bad, -deceitful, ungrateful boy, you! - -"Now," she panted, having reached the limit of her strength, "you go -upstairs with Willium and change clothes. Not another word, er I'll -start in on you all over ag'in. Off you go, both o'you. And -Willium," she called after them, "when you get into your own suit, -don't you ferget to come here fer your scrubbin'." - -When Billy reached the loft, Anson was standing in the center of the -room, smashing with clenched fists at the empty air. Billy sat down -on his bed and grinned. "You will run straight into trouble, in -spite of all I say, Anse," he said gently. "It's all your own fault; -you will be a tattle-tale." - -Anson turned on him. "You mean sneak!" he gasped, "you've been -wearin' my Sunday clothes 'stead of your own, an' I didn't know it." - -Billy nodded. "You see, Anse, I knowed that sooner or later you was -bound to tell Ma, so I played safe, that's all." - -Anson, still sniffling, finished his undressing. Billy nursed his -knee in his hands and watched him. "'Course," he remarked, at -length, "you'll be for tellin' Ma soon's she calms down a bit an' is -ready to listen, but Anse I wouldn't do it if I was you." - -"Well, you kin bet I jest will do it," promised Anson. - -Billy stood up. "I'll tell you what I'm willin' to do, Anse," he -suggested. "If you'll keep mum about this thing, I'll let you come -duck-shootin' with me an' Maurice tomorrow." - -Anson shook his head. "I don't want'a go duck-shootin'," he said. -"I know jest what you fellers 'ud do; you'd get me in all the -bog-holes an' make me carry your ducks. No sir, I'm goin' to tell -Ma." - -Billy tried further inducements. "I'll give you my new red tie an' -celluloid collar," he offered. - -"No!" - -"Then," said Billy sorrowfully, turning toward the door, "I guess -there's only one thing fer me to do." - -"An' what's that?" asked Anse, apprehensively. - -"Go an' tell Croaker an' Ringdo the whole business, an' let that crow -an' swamp-coon 'tend to you." - -"Hold on, Bill, wait a minute," Anson quavered. "I've changed my -mind, I'll take the tie an' collar an' call it square." - -Billy turned and came back slowly to where he sat. "Anse," he said. -"I ain't wantin' to see you witch-chased, so I'll jest give you the -tie an' collar an' say not a word to Croaker er Ringdo; an' if you'll -tell me somethin' I want'a know I'll let you sleep with my -rabbit-foot charm underneath your piller." - -Anson almost sobbed his relief. "I'll do it," he agreed. "What is -it you want'a know, Bill?" - -"I want'a know all you know about them men that are workin' Hinter's -borin' outfit. Why ain't they ever seen outside that tall fence -Scroggie's built 'round the derrick, an' why did he build that fence, -anyways?" - -Anson looked troubled. "Supposin' I don't know--" he began, but -Billy shook his head. - -"I happen to know you do know. 'Course you needn't tell, if you -don't want to," he said. "You kin keep what you know to yourself an' -take your chances with witches. I was jest givin' you a last chance, -that's all." - -He turned once more to the door but Anson jumped up and caught him by -the arm. "Bill," he gasped. "I don't know why Hinter built that -fence, cross my heart, I don't. But I'll tell you all I know about -the men who're runnin' the rig. I been workin' fer the tool-dresser -after school, fer a quarter a night. I've heard quite a lot o' talk -among them fellers. Blamed if I could make head er tail of most of -it but they mentioned a feller by the name of Jacobs an' they seem -plumb scared to death of him. Funny, too, 'cause he's never been -'round there a'tall. Nobody ever comes there but Hinter." - -"How do you mean they seem scared of Jacobs?" - -"I kin tell by what they say. One night I heard the big feller, -named Tom, say to Jack, the other man: 'If we don't strike the stuff -Jacobs is done fer, an' both of us'll go with him.' An' the one -named Jack he swore at him an' says: 'Shut your trap, Tom. One of -these days Jacobs is goin' to hear you blattin'; then you're goin' to -take a trip sooner than you expected.'" - -Billy stood frowning. "Say, maybe Jacobs is the feller that fires -the boilers that runs the windlass," he hazarded. - -"Nope, that man's name's Sanderson. He don't have anythin' to do -with the drillers. Nope, Bill, Jacobs hain't never been seen, but -I'm dead sure he's the boss of the outfit." - -"All right, Anse. You kin learn a lot more by keepin' your ears an' -eyes open. Whatever you see an' hear, you're to tell me, see?" - -Anson nodded. - -"All hunky. Now, I'll jest peel off these duds, an' get inter my -own. Ma'll be gettin' uneasy." - -But when Billy, dressed in his own suit, descended the stairs to peer -cautiously out, it was to find the room deserted. Mrs. Wilson's -voice, high-pitched and excited, came from the back yard. - -"Willium! oh Willium!" she was calling. - -With a bound he was outside and over beside her. She sat on the -block beneath the hop-vine, her face in her apron. She was rocking -to and fro and sobbing. - -"Ma," cried Billy, "whatever is the matter?" - -"Oh Willium," she cried, "my heart is breakin'. Oh to think how I -misjedged him!" - -Billy's eyes opened wide. "Misjedged him?" he repeated. - -"Oh the poor little dear! the poor little dear!" she wailed. "Me -hatin' him like I did, and him doin' all he has fer me. Oh, Willium, -I do feel so 'shamed, an' mean; I do so!" - -Billy stared at his mother in amazement. "Jest what has Anse ever -did fer you, Ma?" he asked wonderingly. - -"Anse!" she snorted. "Who's talkin' about Anse? It's Croaker I -mean. Look here what that darlin' crow brought me jest a few minutes -ago." - -She opened her hand. In it lay a shining twenty-dollar gold piece. -Billy's mouth fell open in astonishment. - -"Croaker brought you that?" he gasped. "Well, I'll be shot!" Billy -stood up and gazed about him. "Where's Croaker now?" he asked. - -"I dunno. He jest laughed an' sailed away ag'in. I don't know where -he got it but I do know good gold when I see it, Willium. Twenty -dollars! Ain't it splendid?" - -"It sure is, but I can't help wonderin' where Croaker found it. -Maybe you wouldn't mind lettin' me off Sunday School today, Ma," he -suggested, "so's I kin trail off an' find that Croaker. Any crow -that kin pick up gold pieces that way is worth watchin'. Kin I go -look fer him, Ma?" - -Mrs. Wilson, at this particular moment, was in the mood to grant -almost any request. "Why Willium," she said eagerly, "go seek him -and bring him back home. Never ag'in will I wish him dead, poor -little feller. But," she added as though realizing that her softened -mood had carried her a little too far, "you see you get back here in -time for supper er I'm liable to tan you good." - -Billy waited for no more. He was up and away like a shot. Mrs. -Wilson, clutching her gold piece in one hand and brushing back her -deranged hair with the other, went back into the house. - -Anson, striving to keep his head above a shiny collar, about which -was twisted a flaming red tie, was just issuing from the stairs. His -mother opened her hand to display her gold piece, then closed it -again. "You go right back upstairs and take off Willium's collar and -tie," she commanded. - -"It's my own collar an' tie," Anson declared, "Bill give it to me." - -"Humph! That's jest like him, but why he should give you his best -tie and collar is beyond me. Do you think you deserve any gifts from -your brother after what you done to him? It jest goes to show you -what a real good heart that boy has. I declare, Anson, I do wish you -was more like him. Now you get your hair combed and your hat brushed -and get away to Sunday School." - -"Yes, Ma'am; ain't you agoin', Ma?" - -"I'll be long shortly; don't you wait fer me." - -"But where's Bill? Ain't he agoin?" - -"No, he ain't agoin'; and now, not another of your fool questions. -Slick your hair down and go at once. Do you hear me?" - -Anson proceeded to obey orders without another word. As he picked up -his hat and turned to the door, Mrs. Wilson opened her hand and held -out the gold piece. - -"Croaker found that and brought it to me," she said, proudly. - -Anson's jaw dropped and he backed fearfully away. - -"Don't you have nuthin' to do with it, Ma!" he cried. "That -Croaker's a witch crow, that's what he is! He's tryin' to tempt you -with gold!" - -Mrs. Wilson stood, the picture of amazement. "Have you gone stark -and ravin' crazy, Anson?" she asked sternly. Then, anger mastering -her, she reached for the broom standing in the corner. Anson -promptly made his escape, but as he passed the open window, he gazed -wildly in at his mother and cried again: "Don't you have nuthin' to -do with that gold, Ma. If you do we'll all get burnt up in our beds, -er get clawed to tatters!" - -Mrs. Wilson sank down on a chair. "Willium's right," she sighed. -"Anson's mind is gettin' a little unbalanced. I'll have to put him -on diet and feed him slippery-elm bark and alloways." - -Sighing dolefully she arose, placed her treasured gold piece in the -clock for safe keeping, and tying on her bonnet, left the house. She -walked hurriedly down the path, thinking that perhaps she might be -late for the opening hymn. As she was about to open the gate, a -slender, sprightly old gentleman, dressed in long frock coat, stepped -out from the trees bordering the road, and gravely lifting his shiny -hat, bowed low, and said: "Your pardon, ma'am, I'm axin; but if ye'll -permit me." - -"Harry O'Dule," she gasped, as he swung the gate wide, "is it re'lly -you?" - -"Faith and who else ma'am," replied Harry. "The ould burrud wid new -feathers is ut. Faith ut's manny a year since I laid these duds -carefully by, thinkin' I'd be wearin' 'em niver ag'in until a day -whin I'd not be knowin' ut. But, Mistress Wilson, ma'am, ut's other -thoughts have been mine since I quit the dhrink. Pl'ase God but duty -is iver clearer wid clearer understandin' and so ut is. Some day -afore I die I'll glimpse me own skies and smell the burnin' peat, and -if that is to be mine thin must I live me life clane here and do me -duty like an Irishman av birth. So, ma'am, it's off I am to visit -the holy Father at Palmyria." - -Mrs. Wilson held out her hand. "Harry O'Dule," she said, her voice -unsteady, "I always knowed you had the makin's of a man in you. I'm -gladder than I kin say." - -Harry bowed low. Mrs. Wilson passed through the gate, beaming -commendation on him from misty eyes. He closed the gate slowly, his -clean shaven, wrinkled face working. He stood and watched her until -the bend in the road hid her. Then, placing his tall hat jauntily on -his grizzled locks, he turned and walked smartly in the opposite -direction. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -BILLY MEETS A LOVELY GHOST - -Billy found Croaker just where he thought he would be--clinging to -the latch of the menagerie door and peering with one black eye -through the chink above it at the owls, the while he hurled guttural -insults at them. - -"Croaker," commanded his master, "get away from there!" - -Croaker balanced himself by flopping one short wing and laughed at -the hisses of the angered owls. He hopped from his perch to the peak -of the shanty as Billy reached for him and there he sat, demurely -turning his head from one side to the other and muttering low in his -throat. - -"Croaker, come down here, I want'a ask you somethin'." Billy's hand -went into his pocket and the crow stood at attention. Then as the -hand came away empty he emitted an angry croak and wobbled further -along the ridge-board. - -"Come, nice old Croaker, tell me where you found the gold," coaxed -Billy. - -Croaker turned his back and murmured a whole string of "coro-corrs," -which to Billy meant just as plain as words could say it that he -hadn't the slightest intention of telling anything. - -"All right then, Croaker, I'll call Ringdo, an' feed him your dinner." - -Now, for the swamp-coon, Croaker had all the jealousy and hatred a -crow is capable of feeling and as a last resort, whenever he was -obdurate and disobedient as he was now, his master could nearly -always bring him to submission by the mere mention of Ringdo's name. -At Billy's threat Croaker raised his head and poured forth such a -jargon of heart-broken lamentation that the listening owls inside -crouched low in terror, their amber eyes questioning the meaning of -the awful sound. - -Billy bent and patted an imaginary something on the ground. "Good -ol' Ringdo," he said. "Nice ol' Ringdo." That was the last straw. -With a croak of anguish Croaker swooped down and lit on his master's -shoulder. Promptly five fingers gripped his feet. - -"Now, you black beggar, I've got you," exulted Billy. This fact did -not seem to worry Croaker in the least. His beady eyes were busy -searching for signs of his enemy. Ringdo being nowhere visible, his -neck feathers gradually lowered and his heavy beak closed. He -snuggled close against Billy's face and told him in throaty murmurs -how much he loved him. Billy laughed, and seating himself on a log, -placed the crow on his knees. - -"Croaker," he addressed the bird, "you must'a found ol' Scroggie's -gold. He had the only gold money this country ever saw, so you must -have found it some way. I don't s'pose it'll do Teacher Stanhope any -good, 'cause it'll go to Jim Scroggie's father, but, Croaker, it's up -to us to get that money an' turn it over; hear me?" - -Croaker blinked and seemed to be thinking hard. - -"You see," Billy went on, "maybe the will'll be where the gold is. -You be a real good feller an' show me where you found the gold-piece." - -"Sure I will," agreed Croaker. He hopped down and started -pigeon-toeing across the glade, peering back to see if Billy were -coming. - -Billy followed slowly, hoping, fearing, trusting that Croaker's -intentions were of the best. The crow was carrying on a murmured -conversation with himself, flapping his wings, nodding his head -sagely and in other ways manifesting his eagerness to accommodate his -master. When he grew tired of walking he flew and Billy had to run -to keep him in sight. Straight through the grove, across the green -valley and on through the stumpy fallow went the crow, Billy panting -and perspiring behind. Straight on to the pine-hedged creek and -still on, until the lonely pine grove of the haunted house came into -view. - -"Oh, Jerusalem!" gasped Billy, "An' me without my rabbit foot charm." -He realized where Croaker was leading him--straight to the haunted -house. He wiped his streaming face on his sleeve and determined he'd -go through with it. - -Croaker paused for a moment in the edge of the grove to look back at -Billy. The bird was plainly excited; his wings were spread, his neck -feathers erect, and his raucous voice was scattering nesting birds -from the evergreens in flocks. - -With wildly beating heart Billy passed through the pines, the -twilight gloom adding to his feeling of awe. Croaker had become -strangely silent and now flitted before him like a black spirit of a -crow. It was almost a relief when at last the tumble-down shack grew -up in its tangle of vines and weeds. Once more into the daylight and -Croaker took up the interrupted thread of his conversation with -himself. He ducked and side-stepped and gave voice to expressions -which Billy had never heard him use before. - -"I wish he'd shut up," he murmured to himself, "but I'm scared to -make him, fer fear he'll get sulky an' quit cold on the job." - -Croaker, mincing in and out among the rag-weeds, led straight across -the yard to a tiny ramshackle building which at one time might have -been a root-house. Billy, feeling that at any moment an icy hand -might reach out and grip his windpipe, followed. It was a terrible -risk he was running but the prize was worth it. His feet seemed -weighted with lead. At last he reached the root-house and leaned -against it, dizzy and panting. Then he looked about for Croaker. -The crow had vanished! - -A thrill of alarm gripped Billy's heart-strings. Where had Croaker -disappeared to? What if old Scroggie's ghost had grabbed him and -cast over him the cloak of invisibility? Then in all likelihood he -would be the next to feel that damp, clutching shroud. - -Suddenly his fears vanished. Croaker's voice, high-pitched and -jubilant, had summoned him from somewhere on the other side of the -building. As quickly as the weeds and his lagging feet would permit -Billy joined him. Croaker was standing erect on a pile of old -bottles, basking in the radiance of the colored lights which the sun -drew from them. Undoubtedly in his black heart he felt that his -master would glory in this glittering pile even as he gloried in it; -for was there not in this heap of dazzling old bottles light enough -to make the whole world glad? - -But Billy gazed dully at the treasure with sinking heart and -murmured: "You danged old humbug, you!" Croaker was surprised, -indignant, hurt. He reached down and struck one of the shiniest of -the bottles with his beak but even the happy tinkle that ensued -failed to rouse enthusiasm in his master. - -"O Croaker," groaned Billy, "why won't you find the gold fer me?" -Croaker returned his master's look of reproach with beady, insolent -eyes. "Cawrara-cawrara-cawrara," he murmured, backing from the pile, -which meant, "Why don't you carry one of these beautiful shiny things -home for me? Isn't that what I brought you here to do?" - -Then, his master still remaining blind to the wealth of treasure -disclosed to him, Croaker spread his wings and sailed away over the -pine-tops. Billy, despair in his heart, followed. All fear of the -supernatural was gone from him now, crowded out by bitter -disappointment at his failure to find the hidden gold. He passed -close beside the haunted house without so much as a thought of the -ghost of the man who had owned it and on through the silent pines and -shadowy, grave-yard silence. - -Then, just as he drew near to the edge of the grove, he caught his -breath in terror and the cold sweat leaped out on his fear-blanched -face. Drifting directly toward him white as driven snow, came the -ghost. It was bearing straight down upon him! His knees grew weak, -refused to hold him, and he sagged weakly against a tree. He closed -his eyes and waited for the end. - -Billy had heard that when one comes face to face with death the -misdeeds of the life about to go out crowd into one brief second of -darting reality before one. He had never quite believed it but he -believed it now. If only he might have his misspent life to live -over again! Never again would he steal Deacon Ringold's melons or -swap broken-backed, broken-bladed jack-knives for good ones with the -Sand-sharks, nor frighten his brother Anson with tales of witches and -goblins. But that chance was not for him. It was, perhaps, natural -that his last earthly thought would be of her. Her sweet face shone -through the choking mists--her trembling lips were murmuring a last -"good bye." Did she know what a wonderful influence her entrance -into his heart had exerted toward his reform? With an effort he -opened his eyes. The white, gliding thing was almost upon him now. -He tried to shake off frozen terror and run. He could not move a -muscle. He groaned and shut his eyes tight, waiting for the icy -touch of a spirit-hand. It found him after what seemed an eternity -of waiting--but it was very soft and warm instead of clammy and cold -and the voice which spoke his name was not in the least sepulchral. - -"Billy." - -A long shiver ran through his tense frame. He opened his eyes -slowly. _She_ stood before him! Yes there was no doubt of it, she -was there, blue eyes smiling into his, warm fingers sending a thrill -through his numbed being. - -He tried to speak, tried to pronounce her name, but the effort was a -failure. All he could do was to drink in her perfect loveliness. -More than ever like an angel she looked, standing all in white in the -blue-dark gloom of the grove, her hair glowing like a halo above the -deep pools of her eyes. - -"Billy," she spoke again, "are you sick?" - -With a supreme effort of will he shook off his numbness and the red -flush of shame wiped the pallor from his cheeks. What would she -think of him if she knew? The very anguish of the thought spurred -him to play the part of hypocrite. It was despicable, he knew, but -what man has not had to play it, sooner or later, in the great game -of love? - -"Fell out o' a tree," he managed to say. "Struck my head on a limb." - -"Oh!" she cried commiseratingly. She came closer to him--so close -that her very nearness made him dizzy with joy. With a tiny -handkerchief she wiped the perspiration from his forehead. - -"Come out into the light and let me see where you hurt yourself," she -said, oh so gently. - -"I don't think it left any mark," Billy stammered. "Anyways, I feel -a whole lot better now. It was foolish for me to climb that tall -tree. I didn't have to do it." - -"Then why did you do it?" They were out into the hardwoods by now, -in a long valley strewn with a net-work of sunbeams and shadows and -he saw a hint of reproach in her big eyes as she asked the question. -His heart leaped with sheer joy. She might just as well have said, -"You have no right to run risks, now that you have me to consider." - -They sat down on a mossy log. Her fingers brushed back his hair as -her eyes sought vainly for marks or bruises. - -"I asked you why you climbed the tree, Billy?" - -Billy's mind worked with lightning speed. - -"There was a little cedar bird's nest in a tall pine," he explained. -"I saw a crow black bird fly out of it, and knew she had laid her egg -in that nest." - -"But why should she lay her egg in the cedar bird's nest; hasn't she -a nest of her own?" asked Lou. - -"No, crow black birds are too lazy to build nests. They take the -first nest comes handy." - -She looked her wonder. "But, Billy, you'd think they would want to -enjoy building their own homes, wouldn't you?" - -Billy shook his head. "The crow black bird don't want to be bothered -with hatchin' an' feedin' her own young. That's why she lays in -other bird's nests," he explained. "She jest lays her egg an' beats -it out o' there. The other poor little bird waits for her to go. -Then she goes back to her nest, glad enough to find it hasn't been -torn to bits." - -"And you mean to tell me that she hatches the egg laid by the mean, -bad black bird, Billy?" - -"Yep, she does jest that. She don't seem to know any better. Birds -an' animals are queer that way. Why, even a weasel'll nurse a baby -rabbit along with her own kittens if it's hungry." - -The girl's eyes grew wider and wider with wonderment. "Isn't it -strange?" she half whispered, "and beautiful?" - -"It's mighty queer," Billy confessed. "But you see, if that little -bird was wise, she'd scoop that crow black bird's egg out o' her -nest, instead of hatchin' it." - -"Why?" - -"Because when the egg's hatched, the little black bird is so much -stronger an' bigger than the cedar birdies he takes most of the feed -the old birds bring in. He starves the other little birds an' crowds -'em clean out o' the nest." - -"Then it was brave of you to risk climbing that tall tree to frighten -that crow bird away," declared Lou. The admiration and commendation -in the blue eyes watching him was more than Billy could endure. - -"Say!" he burst out. "I lied to you, Lou, I didn't fall out o' no -tree, I was jest scared plum stiff when you found me, that's all." - -He hung his head and braced himself to meet what was justly coming to -him. She would despise him now, he knew. He felt a gentle touch on -his arm, and raised his face slowly. The girl's red lips were -smiling. He could scarcely believe his eyes. - -"I'm glad you told me, Billy," she said. "I--I hoped you might." - -"Then you knowed I was scared?" he cried in wonder. - -She nodded. "I suppose I should have called to you, but I had -forgotten what I had heard about this grove being haunted and that I -was dressed all in white. But when I came to you and saw your face I -knew that you were frightened." - -"Frightened! Oh gollies, I was so scared that I chattered my teeth -loose. But honest Injun, Lou, I don't scare easy. I wouldn't like -you to think that I'm a scare-cat about real things. I'm jest scared -of ghosts, that's all." - -Lou knit her brows in thought. "No," she disagreed, "if you had been -that frightened you would not have come to the grove at all." - -Billy looked his relief. "I don't think I'm quite as bad as I used -to be," he said. "Why say, there was a time when you couldn't get me -inside that grove. But lately I've been feelin' different about it. -I don't s'pose there re'lly is such a thing as a ghost, is there?" - -"No," she replied, "there's no such thing as a ghost, Billy." - -A red squirrel came scampering across the open sod before them, -pausing as he sensed their presence, then springing to the trunk of a -sapling the better to look them over. - -"Oh look at the dear little thing," cried the girl. "What do you -suppose he's saying?" as the squirrel broke into a shrill chatter. - -"Why he's callin' us all the mean things he knows, I guess," laughed -Billy. "We're in his way, you see." - -"Then let's get out of his way. I suppose he thinks we have no -business here and maybe he's right. Where shall we go, Billy?" - -Billy thought a moment. "Say, how'd you like to go out in my punt, -on Levee Crick? I kin show you some cute baby mushrats an' some -dandy black-birds' nests. It's not far away. We go 'cross that big -fallow and through a strip o' hardwoods an' then we climb a stump -fence--an' there's the crick. It's an awful fine crick, an' plumb -full of bass an' pike. Say, will you go?" - -He leaned toward her, waiting for her answer. His heart was singing -with joy--joy that spilled out of his grey eyes and made his lips -smile in spite of him. What a sweet and grand privilege it would be -to carry this wonderful girl, who had so transformed his world, along -the familiar by-ways that held such rare treasures of plant and wild -life. - -She was looking away across the forest to a strip of fleecy cloud -drifting across the deep azure of the sky. - -"I should like to go," she said at length, "if you are sure you don't -think I will be a bother." - -"Bother!" Billy's pulses were leaping, his soul singing. He reached -down a hand and trustingly she put her's in it. Very soft and cool -it felt to Billy's hot palm, as he assisted her from the log. Then -side by side they passed down through the long green valley. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -A DAY WITH THE DUCKS - -Erie Landon faced her father across the breakfast table, dimpled chin -cupped in her brown hand. It was early morning; a red sun was just -lifting above the Point to wipe away the white mists of the channel -and the bay. The American yacht which had put into harbor the night -before had cleared and was now but a white speck in the distance. - -"She ought to make Cleveland before dark if this breeze holds," the -light-house keeper said as he twisted the big cigar which the -commodore had given him about in his fingers. "Just what word was it -that lawyer chap, Maddoc, wanted us to get to Swanson, at the foot, -Erie?" - -"Why, he asked us to tell Swanson that he and a friend are coming to -his place to stay for a couple of weeks duck-shooting, Daddy," Erie -answered. - -"When?" - -"Early in October, Mr. Maddoc said." - -"Humph! It does beat all what foolish ideas them big guns take. -Think of them two comin' all the way from Cleveland here just to -shoot ducks. Old man Swanson knows his book, too. He charges them -sports awful prices; nine dollars a week each and makes 'em sleep two -in a bed at that; and every fall that old ramblin' house of his is -chuck kerbang full of shooters." - -Landon was much improved in health. He spoke with little effort, the -hollows in his cheeks were filling and his eyes were brighter than -the girl had seen them for many a day. He gazed longingly down at -the cigar, then glancing up to catch his daughter's reproachful look, -sighed and laid it on the table. - -"I'd love to smoke it," he confessed, "but you needn't worry, Chick. -I'm through with tobacco till I'm my real self ag'in. But I feel so -darned much better since I quit smokin' I simply want to smoke all -the more." - -"Poor old Daddy," Erie laughed, coming around to sit on the arm of -his chair. "It does seem too bad you can't have your smoke. I'm -sure you miss it dreadfully; but you see you are so much stronger and -better I--well, I simply won't let you smoke just yet, that's all." - -His face had brightened at the sound of her laughter. Now he patted -her hand, as his eyes sought the window. Perhaps the old songs would -come back even as the laughter had come and surprise him. Perhaps -she was forgetting Stanhope. But no, much as he desired that this -should be, he knew her too well for that. - -With his eyes on the white sail, now a tiny dot on the horizon, his -mind went back to that scene of a month ago, when he had told her of -Hinter's proposal and of his consent to it. He would never quite -forget the look that came into her face. - -"I could never marry Hinter," she had said. "I love one man--and to -him I shall be true, always." - -"But he is blind, child. He has given you up," Landon had reasoned. -And with her face aglow she had answered. "He is blind, but he can -never give me up, because he loves me." - -Reading in the dry, suffering eyes she had turned upon him a purpose -stronger than life itself, what could he do but take her in his arms -and ask her to forgive him for the old meddler he was? Perhaps he -had erred in this. He did not want to think so. But she looked so -much like her mother that morning it might be-- - -"Daddy." - -He came out of his abstraction with a start and glanced at her, -almost guiltily. "Yes, Chick." - -"Have you told Mr. Hinter yet?" she asked suddenly. - -"Yes," he answered. "I told him that same day. Told him that you -said you could never be more to him than what you now are. Why do -you ask, Erie?" - -"I have wondered why he keeps coming here," she said slowly. "You -scarcely need his companionship, now you are busy with your duties. -But there," she broke off with a smile, "I have no right to doubt his -sincerity; I am sure he has never spoken one word to me that he -should not speak and I know he is really fond of you." - -Landon knit his shaggy brows. "I don't know, Chick. I'm afraid he -still hopes. He has as much as told me so. 'We've been too hasty -with her,' he said, 'we must have patience.'" - -Erie's face went very white. "He mustn't come here any more," she -said quickly. "With your permission I shall tell him so, Daddy." - -He was silent for a time. "Just as you like," he said at length. -"If his comin' annoys you, dear, you tell him so." - -She bent and kissed him. "Best Daddy ever was," she whispered. Then -jumping up she ran to the stove and put the kettle on. - -"I saw Billy Wilson yesterday when I was out sailing," she called, -"and he had the sweetest little girl with him. Her name is Lou -Scroggie and I fell in love with her on sight." - -"Billy with a girl!" cried Landon in wonder. - -"Yes. They were out in Billy's punt, gathering water-lilies, and, oh -Daddy, they seemed so happy. I could have hugged them both. Billy -told me that he and Maurice Keeler were going shooting ducks this -morning and I asked him to come over here for breakfast as usual. -The marsh shooting is all over by sunrise, you know." - -Her father nodded. "I'll bet a cookie that was Billy's old muzzle -loader I heard down in the duck-ponds about daylight," he laughed. -"Maybe," he added hopefully, "he'll fetch us a brace of ducks." - -"Why, there he is now," she cried, glancing through the window. -"Maurice isn't with him, though. I know that old punt as far as I -can see it. I must get the potatoes and bacon on; he'll be hungry as -a bear." - -Landon put on his hat and went down to the beach to welcome their -visitor. "Well, Billy," he called as the punt appeared around the -bend in the shore, "how many ducks did old Liza-Ann drop out of the -sky this mornin'?" - -"Two greys and a mallard," Billy answered over his shoulder. -"Could'a killed more, but what's the use. They wouldn't keep; -weather's too warm." - -"Well now, I can't see why a dozen wouldn't keep as well as three," -returned the keeper, as he pulled the punt high on shore. - -"They would, I s'pose," laughed Billy as he stepped out, followed by -Moll, the little spaniel, "but these three don't have to keep long; -you see we're goin' to have these fer dinner." - -"Are we now?" Landon rubbed his hands and smacked his lips in -anticipation. "You're goin' to stay and help clean up on 'em, Billy?" - -"Yep, I'll stay. I'm goin' to paint Erie's skiff fer her. I'll slip -into the ponds ag'in on my way to the Settlement an' kill enough -ducks fer our folks an' the neighbors." - -Erie was waving to him from the kitchen door. "Where's Maurice?" she -called. - -"His Ma wouldn't let him come. Afraid he'd get wet an' go sick -ag'in. Gee! that coffee smells good, Erie." - -"Go 'long in and tackle it while it's hot," advised Landon. "I'll -start in on pluckin' these birds. But first we'll have to let Chick -see 'em. Say, Billy, they're nigh as big as tame 'uns!" - -Erie clasped her hands in ecstasy at sight of the wild ducks. "Oh, -aren't they lovely!" she cried. "Put them in the ice-house, Daddy, -until Billy starts for home." - -Billy, who had squared away at his breakfast, spoke with his mouth -full. "We're goin' to have 'em fer dinner," he informed his hostess. - -"But, Billy," she remonstrated, "they'll be expecting you to bring -some ducks home, you know." - -"Billy says he'll shoot some more this evenin'," spoke up her father, -who did not intend to allow anything to interfere with a duck dinner -if he could help it. - -"These ducks wouldn't keep till I get home," said Billy. - -"No," supported Landon, "weather's too warm, you see, Chick. I'll -start in on dressin' 'em right now," he chuckled, exchanging winks -with Billy. - -"You're a pair of plotters," cried Erie, "and being a weak, helpless -girl I suppose I'll have to agree with you and submissively roast -those birds to suit your taste." - -"You'll find onions and savory hangin' to the rafters upstairs," -suggested her father as he carried the ducks outside. - -Erie sat down opposite to Billy, and watched him while he ate. He -smiled across at her. "Your Dad seems a whole lot better," he said. - -"Yes, ever so much. He's almost his old self again. He has quit -smoking, you see, and he has promised me not to smoke until he is -quite well again." - -Billy laid down his knife and fork and smiled reminiscently. "I was -jest thinkin' of ol' Harry O'Dule," he said, answering the question -in her eyes. "He's quit a bad habit, too. He's quit drinkin'; don't -touch a drop any more--hasn't fer over a month now." - -"Oh isn't that splendid," cried the girl. "He's such a dear old -fellow when he's sober. Do you suppose he'll be strong enough to -give up drink altogether, Billy?" - -"Well, he seems to be in earnest about it. I re'lly don't think -he'll drink any more. He says that he's got his tin whistle an' his -cat an' don't need whisky. He's changed wonderful, there's no -mistake about that. Ma saw him yesterday. He was dressed in his -Prince Albert an' plug hat, an' Ma says he was that changed she -didn't know him at first." - -Erie laughed softly, "I know very well you've had a hand in his -reform, Billy," she said. - -"Nope," denied Billy, "but I ain't sayin' but that my owls an' snakes -might have played a part in it." And he proceeded to relate the -deception he had practiced on Harry while the old man was in his cups. - -The girl clapped her hands in joy at the story. "And you let him -think he had the delirium tremens! Oh, Billy, is there anything you -wouldn't do, I wonder?" - -Billy shook his head. "I dunno," he replied. "That's a hard -question to answer." - -Silence fell between them. He knew that she was thinking that last -year on the opening morning of the duck season Frank Stanhope had sat -at this table with him. She was gazing from the window, far down to -where the Point was lost in the Settlement forests. He saw her bosom -rise and fall, saw a tear grow up in her eyes and roll unheeded down -her cheek. - -In boyish sympathy his hand reached out to clasp the slender brown -one clenched upon the white cloth. He longed to ask her if what the -Settlement was saying--that she was going to marry Hinter--was true. -And then as quickly as the thought itself came shame of it. His hand -clasped her hand more tightly. - -"He went with me to the foot of the Causeway last night, ag'in," he -said softly. - -She turned and the blood mounted swiftly to her white cheeks. "And -did he feel the light again, Billy?" she whispered eagerly. - -"He felt the light," said the boy, "an' he sang all the way back -home." - -"Oh!" she cried and hid her face on her arms. - -Billy arose hastily, saying something about helping her father with -the ducks and went outside. He found Landon seated on a soap-box -behind the boat house, industriously stripping the ducks of their -feathers. - -"Say," said the man as Billy came up, "you know when ducks put on an -extra coverin' of feathers a hard winter is in sight? Well, by gosh, -these birds have all put on an extra undershirt. Look," holding the -duck in his hands up for inspection. "How's that for a coat o' down?" - -"It sure is heavy," agreed Billy. "I saw another sure sign over -there in the ponds that says it's goin' to be a hard winter, one I've -never knowed to fail. It was the mushrat houses. The rats are -throwin' 'em up mighty big an' thick." - -"And warm, I'll bet." - -"Yep, an' warm. We're sure to have a rough fall an' a humdinger of a -winter." - -"And I s'pose a rough fall means good duckin'?" laughed Landon. "Oh, -by the way, Billy, before I forget. Would you mind runnin' in to old -Swanson's landin' on your way home and tellin' him that a couple of -fellers from Cleveland are comin' to his place early next month to -shoot. They were here last night. One of em's a lawyer named Maddoc -an' he give me this money to pass on to Swanson, so's the old codger -would be sure and hold a room for 'em." - -He felt in his vest pocket and fished out a ten dollar note, which he -handed to Billy. "Maddoc and a party of other men were cruisin' in a -yacht. They docked here last night," he explained. "Left at sunup -for Cleveland." - -"I saw the yacht leave the pier," said Billy. "She sure was a dandy, -wasn't she?" - -"Never saw finer lines than her's," agreed Landon. "You're sure you -don't mind gettin' that word to Swanson now, Billy?" - -"Not a bit. I'll run in to his dock tonight, an' tell him." - -"Good. There, thank goodness this job of pluckin's done at last.". -Landon rose, rubbed his cramped legs and gathered the stripped ducks -up by the necks. "We'll leave the rest to Erie," he chuckled. "This -is about as far as she ever lets me go. Comin' in?" - -Billy shook his head. "I've got a skiff to paint 'fore three o'clock -this afternoon," he said, "so I best get busy. Tell Erie not to -ferget to blow the fog-horn when the ducks are done." - -Landon went on slowly to the kitchen. With his hand on the -door-latch he paused and a smile lit his seamed face. Above the -clatter of dishes came a girl's sweet soprano: - - "Her voice was low and sweet, - And she's all the world to me, - And for bonnie Annie Laurie - I'd lay me down and dee." - - -"I knowed it," whispered the man, softly. "I knowed the old songs -would come back ag'in. Billy must have had somethin' to do with it; -I'll bet a cookie he had!" He opened the door gently and entered. -He placed the ducks on the table and softly withdrew again. - -* * * * * - -It was late afternoon when Billy stepped into his punt and with -swift, strong strokes sent it skimming toward the duck-ponds. At the -point where the shore curved abruptly he lifted his hat and waved to -the man and girl watching him from the pier. - -Moll looked up into his face and whined. "Don't worry, girlie," -Billy told her, "we're goin' on, but we're comin' back ag'in soon an' -have another o' Erie's duck dinners, an' Teacher Stanhope's goin to -be with us, don't you ferget that." - -As he spoke, he saw another boat round the distant grass-point and -put into Jerunda cut, the entrance to the main pond. The smile left -his face. "Beat us to it, Moll," he sighed to the spaniel whose -brown eyes had also glimpsed the skiff. "They'll be set by the time -we get in an' they've got the pick of the ponds, no use denyin' that. -We'll have to portage 'cross to a back slough an' all the ducks we'll -get a chance at are them they miss. Well, cheer up," as the dog, -sensing the disgust in his voice, growled deep in her throat. - -Reaching the cut Billy found the other shooters having some -difficulty in getting their heavy skiff through the shallow and -deceptive water, a feat which only one who was used to navigating -could hope to accomplish successfully. At the same time he noted, -with a start, that the men in the skiff were the mysterious drillers, -Tom and Jack. - -"Hello, you!" he shouted. "You'll have to back up an' take the run -to your left." - -The larger of the two men grunted a surly response and with much -pushing and swearing they began to laboriously back out of the blind -channel. Billy and Moll watched them, the dog growling her -antagonism of the interlopers. As the skiff passed his bow Billy -noted that the guns lying across the seat were both of the new -breech-loading pattern. - -The occupants of the skiff cast a contemptuous look at his old -muzzle-loader, as they passed, and one of them laughed and said -something in an aside to his companion. - -"Do you expect to kill any ducks with that old iron?" he sneered, -looking hard at Billy. - -Billy felt his cheeks turn hot. "I might," he returned, "an' ag'in, -I mightn't." - -"That's one on you, Tom," laughed the man named Jack. "Quit roasting -the kid. We'd have been mired yet if it hadn't been for him." - -Tom allowed a shade of amiability to creep into his tones as he said: -"First time we ever shot these grounds, and we're kinder green on the -ins and outs of 'em. We're drillin' fer water down in the -Settlement. Lost our drill this mornin' and had to send across the -lake fer a fishin' outfit, so thought we'd put in the time shootin' a -bit." - -Billy made no reply. - -"Neeborly, ain't he?" growled Tom to his companion. "Nice, friendly -sorter youngsters they raise on this God forsaken spot, I say." - -"He thinks you're guyin' him," said the other man. "How's he to know -what you mean by 'fishin'-outfit?' He likely thinks you mean a rod -and reel. Better push along and mind your own business. Next thing -you're goin' to say is somethin' about 'shootin' a well,' and if -Jacobs gets to hear of that kinder talk--" - -They were moving off, and Billy did not hear the rest of the -sentence. As they entered the main run, the smaller man called: -"Hey, sonny, whereabouts is the best point in yonder?" - -Billy gritted his teeth. He resented these strangers coming into his -shooting grounds and acting as though they owned them. For them to -expect him to show them just where the best point was to be found -seemed to him to be going a whole lot too far. He disliked and -distrusted them. From what he had seen and heard of them he believed -they were the men who robbed the Twin Oaks store. He wanted to tell -them so now, but something told him to curb his temper and act the -part of a sport who could afford to make certain allowances. - -"The best point's straight ahead of you," he answered. "You'll find -a rush blind already built on it." - -He picked up his paddle and followed in the wake of the other boat. -The men were putting out their decoys as Billy passed the point. - -"Say, you," called Tom, "if this is such an all-fired good spot it's -a wonder you didn't take it yourself; you had lots of time to beat us -to it, didn't you?" - -"You was in the run first, wasn't you?" said Billy, coldly. - -"Why, sure we was, but we were stuck tight. You might have passed -us, easy enough." - -"Well, we don't play the game that way in these parts," said Billy -and passed on, unheedful of the uncomplimentary names the chagrined -driller threw after him. - -Half way down the long pond he drew into shore and, pulling the punt -after him through the tall rushes, made the portage across to the -inner slough. It was a long, hard pull, but the track he laid would -make the return portage much easier. - -"Looks like a good feedin' place, Moll," he addressed the spaniel as -he paddled slowly across to the far shore of the slough. "Good grass -here fer hidin', too; but not much chance of findin' a down bird -without a good dog, an' I've got her--eh girlie?" - -Moll wagged her short tail gleefully. - -"Now then, girlie, it's comin' on to flight-time, so well jest set -out decoys right here." Billy picked up the wooden ducks and placed -them as naturally as he knew how some twenty yards out from shore. -As he drew the punt well up among the tall rushes he saw the first -line of ducks drift in from the bay. - -"Down, Moll!" he whispered, as he cocked the old muzzle-loader. -"They're headin' straight in. Them driller fellers are goin' to get -a chance to make a clean-up on that bunch, sure!" - -Straight across the marsh, following the cut, the ducks came on, half -a dozen big "blacks," with long necks outstretched and quick eyes -seeking for feeding ones of their own kind. Then, suddenly, the -leader gave a soft quack and Billy saw the flock swoop low. - -"Oh, gollies! Right into their decoys," he groaned. "Now they'll -give it to 'em, jest as they're settlin'." - -A long, harrowing moment passed. Then quickly and close together -four shots rang out. Moll whined dolefully and Billy, peering -through the rushes, gave a low whistle of surprise. "Didn't down a -single bird," he muttered, "an' by gollies, they've sent 'em right -across to us." - -Almost simultaneously with his words the whistle of strong wings grew -up and the six big blacks swept in, low over his decoys. - -It was a sure hand that raised the old gun, a sure eye that glanced -along its brown barrels. At the first loud report of the black -powder the leader of the flock crumpled up and the second in command -drifted sidewise from the flock. The left barrel spoke and a third -duck twisted from the remainder of the flock, to fall with a splash -into the water. - -Moll, whose eyes had never left the second bird down, had slipped -quietly away through the rushes. Billy, having launched the punt and -retrieved the two birds on the water, found her waiting for him on -shore, the dead duck in her mouth. He patted her brown side and -spoke a word of commendation to her; then quickly he reloaded. - -The sun was almost on the western horizon now and the ducks were -beginning to come in fast, most of them from off the bay; -consequently the shooters in the front pond had always first chance. -But Billy knew they were having little or no success. Every duck -that offered itself as a target to them he saw almost as soon as they -did and although the report of their guns sounded at quick intervals -the ducks seemed to keep on, straight across to where he crouched -with the excited dog by his side. - -By the time the sun had fallen behind the far rim of forest he was -quite content with his evening's bag, which consisted of five blacks, -a pair of greys, two blue winged teal, a pintail and a pair of green -headed mallards. - -Quickly he made the portage and crossed the pond into Jerunda. He -could hear the other shooters ahead of him, speaking in profane tones -of disgust at their luck. He found them waiting for him on the edge -of the bay, but he kept right on paddling. - -"What luck, sonny?" called the man, Tom, as he passed. - -Billy told him of his bag. - -The man swore and said something to his companion. "Hey, hold up! -Want to sell part of them ducks?" he asked. - -"Nope." Billy shipped his paddle and picked up his oars. Somehow he -felt safer then. He believed that men like those behind were capable -of almost any crime. What if they should make up their minds to have -his ducks anyway? Well, they couldn't catch him now. There were two -of them in a heavy skiff and he was alone in his light punt, so let -them try it if they wanted to. But whatever might have been their -thought, it was clear they knew better than pursue that swiftly -moving boat. Quickly they fell behind him and were swallowed up in -the deepening shadows. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -TEACHER JOHNSTON RESIGNS - -September passed laden with summer perfumes and song and, beneath a -blanket of hoar frost, October awoke to send her hazy heralds far -across wooded upland and open. Slowly those wreathing mists kissed -leaf and fern, as though whispering: "Rest sweetly, until spring -brings you back once again." - -So it seemed to the boy, as from the brow of a hill he watched the -dawn-haze drift toward the newly-open sun-gates of the eastern sky; -for autumn always brought a feeling of sadness to Billy. He missed -the twitter of the birds, the thousand and one notes of the wild -things he loved and which always passed out and away from his world -with the summer. The first hoar frost had come; soon the leaves -would turn golden and crimson, the fern-clumps crumple and wither -into sere, dead, scentless things. Then with shortening days and -darkening skies those leaves and plants would sag to earth and the -gaunt arms of the bare trees would lift empty nests toward -snow-spitting skies. - -No more would the fire-flies weave a gauze of golden stars above the -marshlands at the foot of the Causeway. The season of green and blue -had lived and died and in its place had been born a season of drab -and brown. Summer was gone. The song-birds had migrated. Soon the -green rush fields would sway, grey and dead and the bronze woodcocks -would whistle away from the bog-lands, for seldom did they tarry -after the first frost. Along the creek the red-winged black-birds -would be sounding their up-and-away notes. No happy carol to welcome -the first glow of dawn! No wonder Billy sighed. Then he lifted his -head quickly as, high above him, sounded the whistle of wings. Up -from the north a wedgeshaped flock of wild ducks came speeding, white -backs flashing as they pitched downward in unbroken formation towards -the calling bay-waters. - -Billy caught his breath quickly and a glad smile drove the shadow -from his face. "Canvasbacks!" he murmured, "They've come early. I -bet anythin' the flocks I heard comin' in through the night was -canvasbacks, too--an' redhead! I must go right over after breakfast -an' tell Teacher Stanhope; he'll be sure to say 'Let's go get 'em.' -Oh, gee!" - -He turned back toward the house, then paused as the mellow -"whirt-o-whirt" of a quail sounded from the sumach which bordered the -meadow across the road. "Old Cock quail," he cautioned softly, "I -wouldn't give that covey-call too often if I was you. Joe Scraff -jest might hear you. Only note safe fer you to whistle is 'Bob -White'--but you won't be whistlin' that till spring comes ag'in." - -It may be that the white-throated leader of the brown covey in the -stubble sensed the murmured warning of his friend, for he did not -whistle again. The smile still on his lips, Billy vaulted the rail -fence and sought the path to the house. - -He found his father, mother and Anson seated at the breakfast table -and as he took his place he was conscious of a foreboding of -impending storm. The conviction was strengthened when his father's -foot, reaching sympathetically underneath the table, touched his ever -so gently. With perfect sangfroid he speared a strip of bacon with -his fork and held his breath as he waited for the worst. Two taps of -that foot meant "On your guard," three taps "Watch out for dodging." - -He received two taps and sighed relievedly; then as his mother arose -to bring the coffee-pot from the stove he felt three quick and -distinct pressures and ducked his head just in time to miss a -swinging, open-handed slap from Mrs. Wilson's heavy hand. - -Anson, sitting slit-eyed and gleeful close beside him, received the -slap with a force that knocked his face into his porridge bowl. - -As Mrs. Wilson recovered her balance and squared away for a surer -stroke, Croaker swooped in through the open door and, with many -muffled croaks, alighted in the center of the table. In his black -beak he held another glittering gold piece, which he dropped in front -of Mrs. Wilson's plate. Then picking up a fat doughnut from the -platter he hopped to the motto _God Bless Our Home_ and perching -himself on its gilt frame proceeded to appease his morning's hunger. - -Silence fell upon the family after the first gasp of surprise at -sight of the gold piece. Even Anson checked his wailing to sit with -his pale eyes wider open than ever they had been before and it was he -who broke the silence which had fallen--broke it with a husky, -fear-ridden voice as he cried: - -"Fer goodness sake, Ma, don't touch that gold! It's bewitched, I -tell you!" - -His mother glared at him. "Humph!" she snorted, "you're bewitched -yourself, you poor coward you! Now then, another word out o' -you--and you get the strap. Ain't I told you, Anson, time and ag'in, -that this dear crow has found old Scroggie's pile? You git up from -this table to once; go out and stay within callin' distance; I'll -want you back here presently." - -She picked up the gold piece and, fondling it lovingly, waited until -Anson had passed outside. Then with characteristic deliberation she -placed it safely away beneath her saucer, thereby signifying that the -incident was closed for the time being. - -It was not until Billy had finished his breakfast and was about to -slip quietly out that his mother spoke again. Then fixing him with -cold, accusing eyes, she said: "I want 'a know what you had to do -with scarin' the new teacher so he won't never come back to the -Valley School ag'in, Willium." - -Billy, who had anticipated what was coming, gave a well-feigned start. - -"Why, Ma," he cried, in amazement, "you don't mean to say he's gone?" - -"Yes, he's gone an' I s'pose you're satisfied, you and your outlaw -companions in crime. Cobin Keeler stopped by this mornin' and he -told us the teacher left his writ' resign in his hands. He declares -he won't risk his life among a lot of young savages." - -"I think that Mr. Johnston went a little too far there," Wilson -ventured. - -"You shet right up, Tom!" commanded his wife. "Ain't it nuthin' to -you that your son grows up wild and uneddicated?" - -"But he had no right to call us savages, Ma," protested Billy. - -"Oh, hadn't he then! Well, who up and deliberately stole his horse, -I'd like to know?" Mrs. Wilson held her breath waiting for the -answer. - -"Nobody stole his horse," replied Billy. "The poor thing was so lean -an' hungry that it weaved when it walked; all we did was sneak it out -o' the school-yard an' hide it where there was good pasture." - -"Well, maybe that ain't stealin' it, but if it ain't what would you -call it, Willium?" - -"I'd call it bein' kind to dumb animals," spoke up Wilson, his eyes -meeting the angry ones of his wife. - -"Listen, Ma," said Billy gently. "That old Johnston was awful mean -to us kids, there's no mistake about that. He whipped us fer -nothin', an' what's worse, he was always sneerin' at us fer being -low-born an' ignorant, an' that meant sayin' things ag'in our folks. -But we was willin' to stand all that, cause we'd promised Teacher -Stanhope that we'd do our best to put up with the teacher in his -place. But, Ma, if you could'a seen that poor ol' horse, so starved -that every rib showed like the ridges in your wash-board, lookin' -over that school-yard fence at the long grass an' beggin' with his -hungry eyes fer jest a bite--" - -Billy paused and rolled a bread crumb. When he looked up his eyes -were dark. "Anse has told you that it was me who sneaked him out o' -the yard, an' led him away where he could feed an' rest an' get the -sores made by the hard saddle an' hickory healed, an' Anse didn't lie -fer once. I did do it, an' I'd do it ag'in. - -"What's more, Ma, that ol' horse is goin' to stay right where he is, -belly-deep in clover, till it gets so cold we'll have to stable him. -Then he's goin' to have all the good hay an' oats he wants." - -Mrs. Wilson could scarcely believe her ears. "You don't mean that -havin' took him you had any thoughts of keepin' him, Willium?" she -managed to say. - -"Yes, Ma'am; I mean jest that. You see, Ma, that ol' horse don't -belong to Teacher Johnston any more. We bought him." - -"Bought him!" exclaimed man and woman in a breath. - -Billy nodded. "Me an' Jim Scroggie bought him from Mr. Johnston, an' -we got a receipt provin' our ownership, too, you bet. This is how we -did it. 'Long 'bout the second er third day after ol' Thomas -disappeared me an' Jim met up with Johnston walkin' home from school -to Fairfield where he boards. Jim had fifty dollars, all his own, -an' we'd planned jest what we'd say to the teacher. - -"First off when he sees us, he asks us if we'd happened to find any -tracks of his horse. It was funny to see his snakey eyes callin' us -liars at every polite word we said to him. Finally he comes right -out flat-footed an' tells us that he knows we had somethin' to do -with ol' Thomas wanderin' off, an' he says he's goin' to make our -fathers pay fer his loss." - -"Course we got real scared then--leastwise Johnston thought we -was--an' Jim he ups an' tells him that we fergot to latch the gate -an' let the horse out. Then Johnston got real mean--meaner than I -ever see him get, an' that's sayin' quite a lot. He said he would -turn back with us an' interview--that's the word he used, whatever it -means--interview our fathers. - -"Then Jim he begged him not to do that. 'We'll pay you whatever's -right fer your horse, sir,' he says, but Johnston jest snorted. -'Where would you get fifty dollars!' he says, but Jim, he nudged me -to keep quiet, an' said: 'I've got fifty dollars of my very own, -right here, sir. We'll buy your horse an' take chances on findin' -him, if you'll sell him to us.' - -"'Gimme the money,' says Johnston. - -"So we give him the money but we made him give us what Jim calls a -regular bill o' sale receipt fer it. An' so, you see, Ma, we've got -Mr. Johnston there, an' he won't ever lay the rod on poor ol' Thomas -no more." - -Mrs. Wilson, arms folded on the white table-cloth, was gazing out of -the window now. Perhaps she saw a poor old horse, belly deep in -luscious grass, making up for the fasts of hard and stern days, -mercifully behind it forever now and enjoying life to the full--the -new life which Billy had helped to purchase. - -At any rate, her voice had lost much of its harshness as she asked: -"But what about the wild animal that broke into the school an' tore -the teacher's clothes fair off his back an' chased him up the road? -That's the thing that scared him so he quit the school ferever. Now, -Willium, what did you have to do with that?" - -Billy sat silent, striving to keep back the grin that would come in -spite of him. Wilson, on pretext of getting his pipe, got up and -left the room. - -"I'm waitin', Willium." - -"Well, Ma, you see ol' Ringdo got out of his cage yesterday mornin'. -I've kept him shut up a lot an' what with feedin' on meat an' rich -stuff that old swamp coon was playfuller than usual, I guess. It -seems Teacher Johnston had took a notion to get down to the school at -eight o'clock instead of nine as he usually does. When Teacher -Stanhope taught school Ringdo used t' often go there an' get apples -an' stuff that the teacher saved for him. Yesterday when he got -loose he must've been lonesome fer Mr. Stanhope, an' he went to the -school. He got in an' found Johnston alone, I guess, an' maybe tried -to get friendly. Mr. Johnston must have kicked him er hit him. All -I know about it is what I seen fer myself. - -"I was goin' down the path to the road, Anse with me, when the -teacher went past, runnin' fer all he was worth. Come to think of it -his coat had been clawed some, an' I remember now his face was -bleedin' from a scratch er two. He didn't see us an' he didn't stop. -He kept right on goin'. Anse an' me went on to the school, an' there -we found Ringdo jest finishin' the teacher's lunch. I brought him -back an' put him in his cage. That's all, Ma, an' it's every blessed -word true." - -Mrs. Wilson remained thoughtful. Billy, watching her with furtive -speculation, hoped from the relaxing lines in her brow that all was -well with the world once more. Hope became an assurance with her -next words. - -"You kin have that Jim Scroggie over to supper tonight, Willium, if -you want to." - -Billy's heart jumped with joy. He wanted to hug his mother, but -restrained the desire and sat gazing pensively at his plate. - -"What's the matter, don't you want him?" asked his mother. "I -thought maybe you'd like to have him, seein's you're such cronies an' -there must be some good in him in spite of his looks. I could have -them partridges that Joe Scraff sent over roasted with bacon strips -across 'em, an' baked potatoes, an' maybe I might boil an apple -dumplin'." - -Billy sighed. "That's awful good of you, Ma, an' I sure would like -to have Jim over to supper, but he's so fond of his sister he won't -go anywheres without her, you see." - -"Well," flared his mother, "can't he fetch her along with him, if he -wants to? What's to hinder him from fetchin' her? She's a sweet -little thing an' I'd be proud to have her." - -Billy closed his eyes and took tight hold of his chair seat. He knew -that if he did not summon all his self restraint he would surely -spoil all he had accomplished through strategy. He longed to swoop -down on his mother and hug her, slap her on the back and yell in her -ear that she was a brick. But experience had taught him caution. -And besides, Billy reasoned, there was still something more to be -accomplished. - -"I say we kin have Louie over, too, Willium," Mrs. Wilson suggested -once again. - -"Yep, we could do that, I s'pose," said Billy, "only--" He frowned -and shook his head. "I guess we best not ask either of 'em, Ma. -Maurice might hear of it, an' wonder why he wa'n't asked too. He's -awful funny that way, you know." - -"Why, sakes alive!" cried his mother, "I never give Maurice a -thought. O' course we'll have him, too. An' if there happens to be -anybody else you'd like, you best say so now, Willium." - -"I'd awful like to have Harry O'Dule, too." - -Mrs. Wilson caught her breath, but whatever objections her mind -raised against the last named remained unuttered. All she said was. -"This is your party, Willium. Anybody else, now?" - -"Elgin Scraff," spoke up Billy, promptly. - -Mrs. Wilson looked out of the window and considered. "Let's see. -That leaves little Louie the only girl among all of you boys, so -we'll jest have to have another girl er two. How'd you like to have -Ann Spencer and Phoebe Scraff?" - -Billy agreed with delight. - -Mrs. Wilson pushed back her chair and arose from the table. "Now, -then, Willium, you get along out. I've got a whole lot to do afore -supper-time, and I guess maybe you best run across and ask Mrs. -Keeler to come over and help me. You kin go 'round and give the -invites to your friends." - -She picked up the saucer and stood looking down at the gold piece -which Croaker had brought in. "I don't s'pose there's a particle of -use keepin' an eye on that crow?" she asked. - -"Haven't I been keepin' an eye on him?" cried Billy, "an' you see -what he does. Jest as soon as I turn my back he plays sharp. I've -done my best to get him to show me where he finds that gold, but he -won't do it. But I'll catch him yet. I'll jest run along an' see -what he's at now; he's so quiet I know he's into some mischief." - -He picked up his hat and bounded outside. He found Croaker seated on -the chicken yard fence, gravely surveying his ancient and mortal -enemy, the old game cock, and whispering guttural insults that fairly -made the rooster bristle with anger. - -Billy shook his fist at the crow. "You old beggar," he said fondly, -"if that rooster was wise he'd go out with the rest of the chickens -an' scratch his breakfast, 'stead o' quarrelin' with you. He don't -know that you're doin' your best to starve him to death." - -Billy knew that Croaker would hang close to his enemy all morning and -feeling reasonably sure that no further trips to the hidden treasure -would be made during his absence on his mother's errand he started -for Keeler's. At the road gate he met Cobin coming in, a pitchfork -on his shoulder. Keeler and Billy's father "changed works" during -wheat and corn harvest, and the former was coming over to help haul -in fodder. - -"Ho, Billy!" he boomed, gripping the lad's arm in his huge hand, "you -won't steal Maurice away from the work I've set him to do this -mornin', I'll be bound. Back to the house you come with me, young -man. I want Maurice to finish his job." - -"I don't want Maurice," Billy hastened to explain. "Ma wants Missus -Keeler to come over an' give her a hand, so I'm on my way to tell -her. Honest, Mr. Keeler, that's right." - -"By Jimminy, you've fooled me so many times, Billy, I have an idea -you might jest do it ag'in." Mr. Keeler's grip tightened, and his -smile broadened. "Cross your heart, it's right?" - -"Yep, cross my heart, an' spit on my thumb," grinned Billy. - -Keeler's roaring laugh might have been heard half a mile away. -"Well, along you go," he shouted, lifting Billy bodily over the gate. -"You'll find Ma deefer than usual on account of a cold in the head, -so talk real close and loud to her." - -Billy found Mrs. Keeler peeling onions in the cook-house and after -some trouble made her understand what was wanted. While she was -shedding her apron and hunting for her hat he went outside. -Maurice's school-books and slate lay on the bench beneath the hop -vine. Billy grinned as his eyes fell on them. He climbed to the top -of the gate-post and searched the surrounding fields for his chum, -locating him finally down near the ditch, a lonely and pathetic -figure seated on a little knoll, methodically topping mangles with a -sickle. His back was toward Billy and it took all the latter's self -restraint to refrain from giving the rally call, but he remembered -what he had promised Maurice's father. So he slid down from the post -and picking up the slate, produced a stub of slate-pencil from a -pocket and wrote a message in symbols. Then on the other side of the -slate he duplicated the message, adding the necessary key to the -code. This was the message that Billy wrote: - -[Illustration: Billy's message] - -When Mrs. Keeler came out, laden with bake-pans and other kitchen -utensils, Billy led her carefully across the stubble by a new route, -nor did she dream his motive in so doing was to keep the house -between them and the lonesome mangle-topper in the valley. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -MR. HINTER PROVES A PUZZLE - -October's second morning dawned sullen and grey, with a chill wind -banking slate-hued clouds in the sky. Deacon Ringold, taking the -short cut across the stubble-fields to Wilson's, shivered as he -glanced back at the black lines his feet had cut through the crisp -white frost, and decided to put on his woolen underclothes right -away. The deacon had important and disturbing news to convey to his -neighbor and had started out early to seek his counsel. - -As he climbed the rail fence his eyes swept the Settlement below, -resting at length on the jail-like wall in the edge of the Scroggie -timber, above which the tall derrick protruded like a white, scarred -face. "Humph!" he mused, "Scroggie and Hinter must either have -struck water, or give up. Their rig's quiet after chuggin' away day -and night for weeks." - -He glanced in the opposite direction to the blue smoke rising above -the Wilson cedars. Then, as he prepared to climb down, he apparently -changed his mind, for instead of taking the path to Tom Wilson's he -walked briskly down toward the walled in derrick. Reaching it he -paused and an exclamation of surprise escaped him. On the door of -the wall an iron padlock had been fastened. There was no sign of -human life about the place but within the walls could be heard the -fierce growling of dogs. Ringold backed away and eyed the tall -derrick. There was mystery here and he didn't relish mysteries. And -there was a pungent, salty smell about the place--the smell that oily -machinery gives off when put under intense heat. - -The deacon was curious to learn what caused that smell. He -approached a little closer to the walls and scrutinized the ground -carefully. It was stained with black patches of something and he saw -that the planks of the wall and the portion of the derrick showing -above it also were stained a greenish-black. He ran a finger over a -greasy splash and sniffed. Then he backed away slowly, now nodding -his head. He knew what had happened, just as well as though he had -seen it. The careless drillers had exploded a barrel of coal-oil, -and perhaps wrecked the drill. Yes, nothing surer. That had been -the explosion which shook the windows of his home and awoke him -several nights ago. Keeler and Wilson had heard it too. Well, it -was too bad after all the trouble and expense Scroggie had gone to to -find water for the Settlement. - -So the deacon went thoughtfully on his way to Wilson's. He found Tom -Wilson breakfasting alone. To the deacon's look of surprise his -neighbor vouchsafed the information that a glad and glorious band of -young people had been "cuttin' up" nearly all night there, and the -boys and Ma were sleepin' in, like. - -Ringold hung his hat on the stovepoker and got down to business at -once. "Say, Tom, I've had an offer for my back hundred. Don' know -whether to sell or not. Thought I'd like to hear what you'd advise." - -Wilson drained his cup and set it down in the saucer, methodically. -The news did not seem to surprise him. "Who made the offer, Hinter?" -he asked. - -The deacon started. "Yes, did he tell you about it?" - -"No," Wilson pushed back his chair and felt for his pipe, "but he -seems to want to own the whole Settlement. He made me an offer for -my place and he tried to buy Cobin Keeler's farm, too, so Cobin says." - -"When, Tom, when?" asked Ringold, eagerly. - -"Last night. At least that's when he made me my offer an' he must -have gone across to Cobin's after he left me. Cobin jest left here -not ten minutes ago. He come over to tell me all about it." - -The deacon sat silent, thinking. "What's their game, Tom?" he asked -suddenly. - -"His game you mean." - -"No, I don't either, I mean his and Scroggie's game; of course -Scroggie's behind him." - -"Yes," agreed Wilson, "I guess maybe he is. But, Deacon, I don't -know what their game is; wish I did." - -"Did you talk sell, Tom?" asked Ringold, anxiously. - -"No sir," his neighbor answered promptly, "I should say not." - -"And Cobin--he ain't any head at all, poor Cobin--did he talk sell?" - -Wilson laughed. "Not Cobin. He's quite satisfied with his little -farm, I guess. No, Hinter didn't get much satisfaction from either -of us." - -The deacon jumped up and reached for his hat. "Tom, I'm goin' to -saddle your roan and go ask a few questions of the other farmers, if -you don't mind." - -"Good idea," agreed his neighbor. "Here, you best set down and have -a cup of coffee and I'll saddle him, myself." - -"No coffee, thanks; had breakfast; I'll go 'long with you. Oh, by -the way, Tom, I know now what caused that explosion t'other night," -and the deacon proceeded to relate his investigation of the walled-in -well. - -Wilson listened interestedly, until Ringold was through. "Well, -they've been careful enough about hidin' their good work, at any -rate," he said. "You'd think they had somethin' mighty precious -inside them walls the way they've guarded it; but I'm sorry if -they've met with an accident," he added. "Hinter did really seem -anxious to get water." - -They went out to the stable and Wilson saddled the roan. "I'll be -back in an hour or so," called the deacon as he rode away. - -He was as good as his word. Wilson was just finishing the morning's -milking, when the deacon returned. "No other offers, Tom," he said. -"Looks as though they were after this particular strip of territory. -Anyhow it's agreed that none of us will sell or rent without -consultin' the others, so I guess we can wait on Hinter's game all -right." - -"Didn't see Scraff, did you?" asked Wilson. - -"No, I didn't. Joe had left for Bridgetown to bring in a couple of -duck-hunters to old man Swanson's. Clevelanders, they are, so I -didn't see him." - -"I'm afraid Joe'll sell, if he gets a good offer," reflected Wilson. - -"No, he'll stick with the rest of us," cried Ringold, emphatically, -"and I'll tell you why. It's just like his contrariness to do the -very thing the others won't do, but let me tell you somethin'. The -very minute he makes a move I put the screws on him tight. Let him -so much as whisper 'sell' an' he'll pay me every cent he owes me, -with interest. No, Tom, we needn't feel scarey about Joe Scraff." - -"Well," laughed Wilson, "if anybody kin make Joe toe the scratch it's -you, Deacon. Didn't see anythin' of Hinter on your rounds, did you?" - -"No, but I met Scroggie. That feller improves on acquaintance, Tom, -he does so! He ain't half bad after you get to know him. He seems -to want to be neighborly, and while I think he's backing Hinter in -some way I've an idea he's watching him pretty close." - -"Say anythin' to him about Hinter's offer to buy?" - -"Nary a word but I asked him what he intended to do with the Scroggie -hardwoods. He told me that he had sold it to a lumber company. He -says there'll be a big camp of cutters and sawyers down here this -winter. I said I supposed he'd be goin' back to the States jest as -soon as he got things cleared up here, an' you ought to see the queer -look he gave me. - -"'I'm not sure that I'll go back to the States,' he said, 'it all -depends; besides,' says he, 'my boy and girl like this place and the -people and I reckon I've got enough money to live wherever I like.' - -"Well, I'll put the roan in the stable, Tom; then I'll mosey 'cross -home and get my men at the cider-makin'. A few frosts like last -night's, an' all the apples will be soured. See you tonight at -prayer-meetin'." - -Wilson picked up his pails and carried them to the fence. Seeing -Billy emerge from the house he placed them on the top step of the -stile and waited. - -"Have a good time last night?" he asked. - -Billy grinned, "You bet! I tell you Ma kin certainly roast partridge -fine, an' say, can't old Harry play the dandiest tune you ever heard? -Lou says he puts all the songs of the wood-birds into one sweet -warble." - -"I guess whatever Lou says is jest about right, eh?" - -Billy blushed to the roots of his hair but his grey eyes met his -father's steadily. "Yep," he answered, "jest about right." - -Billy lifted the pails and turned up the path. - -"Where have you put that man-eatin' swamp coon?" asked his father as -he followed. "I believe he's gettin' cross. You'll have to watch -him." - -"Oh, Ringdo ain't cross," laughed Billy, "he's only playful. He's -over to Teacher Stanhope's. He's so fond of the teacher he won't -stay away from him." - -Billy set the pails down on the block outside the milk-house and -rubbed his cheek against Croaker, who had just alighted on his -shoulder. "Are you goin' to show me where you found the gold-pieces, -Croaker?" he asked, stroking the ruffled plumage smooth. - -Croaker shooked his head and hopped to the ground. He had grown -tired of having Billy put that question to him. With many throaty -and indignant mutterings he pigeontoed across the yard, not even -deigning to glance back at the laughing man and boy. - -"Pa," said Billy, "would you mind comin' to the woodshed an' lookin' -over my open water decoys. I've been restringin' 'em, an' weightin' -the canvasbacks an' redheads, an' givin' the bluebills a fresh coat -o' paint. I'd like to know what you think of my job." - -"I heard you and Frank Stanhope arrangin' to go after bay ducks -t'other day," said Wilson as he followed Billy into the shed. - -"Yep, we're goin' tomorrow if this weather holds. I'll go over this -afternoon to fix up a hide on Mud point." - -"You seem to have managed the stringin' all right," said the father, -examining the wooden ducks on the work bench. "A little too much -white on the bluebills, I'd say." - -"That's jest what I thought," said Billy. "I'll darken it some." - -Wilson leaned against the bench and waited. He knew that Billy had -brought him into the shed to speak of other things than decoys. - -"Pa," said the boy, in guarded tones, "you best watch that man -Hinter, an' watch him close." - -"Why?" said Wilson. - -"Cause he's up to some game, an' I know it." - -"But what makes you suspicious of Hinter?" asked his father gravely. -"Hasn't he always minded his own business and been a law-abidin', -quiet livin man?" - -"Yep," Billy admitted, slowly, "that's it. He's all right in lots of -ways, but in other ways----" - -He paused. "See here, Pa," he cried, "I happen to know one er two -things about Hinter that I don't like. He's the boss of at least two -bad men, an' I guess maybe there's more in the gang, too." - -"And who are these two men? What have they done?" - -"They're the two who've been workin' his drillin' rig; an' they're -the men that robbed the Twin Oaks store." - -"How do you know this?" Wilson asked sharply. - -"I know it 'cause Maurice an' me saw 'em on the very night the store -was robbed, out in Scroggie's woods. They had a lantern. We heard -'em speak about hidin' somethin' in the ha'nted house." - -"And that's where Harry found the stolen stuff," mused Wilson. "What -else, Billy?" - -"It was them two who brought Hinter's drillin'-rig 'cross the lake in -a schooner. I saw 'em the day they teamed it in. I knowed 'em both -an' Pa, I overheard 'em talkin' 'bout hidin' the stolen stuff in the -ha'nted house." - -"Have you told anybody else about this besides me, Billy?" - -"No," answered Billy, promptly, "not even Teacher Stanhope." - -Wilson looked relieved. "I can't make head er tail of it," he said, -frowning. "I can't think that Hinter is behind the men in any -deviltry." - -"His name ain't Hinter," said Billy. "It's Jacobs." - -"What?" - -"It's Jacobs. Listen, Pa, I'll tell you how I know. Anse, you -remember, was sort of helper with them drillers till he got askin' -too many questions an' they fired him. Well, all he asked 'em, _I -put him up to ask_. Anse was always a mighty good listener an' he -often heard these two, Jack and Tom, speak of Jacobs an' call him -boss. An' one day when Hinter comes over, Anse heard one of 'em call -him Jacobs, an' Hinter was awful mad about it." - -"Well!" was all Wilson could say, and he repeated it to himself -several times, dazedly. - -Billy was watching him closely. "Pa," he said earnestly, "there's -something else I might as well let you know while I'm about it. This -man Hinter owns a schooner, er leastways is boss of one, an' it was -her brought them drillin' rigs 'cross the lake. The boat's been -layin' along the Point, a mile out from shore fer more'n a month now, -an' Hinter has been keepin' in touch with her right along." - -"But how do you know this?" asked Wilson in amazement. Billy -hesitated before answering. "I know it," he said, "'cause every -night that he rides to the lighthouse Maurice an' me sail up there -an' sort o' hide up till he leaves." - -"But why, Billy?" - -"'Cause he--he wants Erie," said the boy, miserably, "an she won't -marry him. We've wondered why he's been holdin' the schooner close -in. So we been watchin' Hinter. An' one night we follered him down -the bar to the pines, an' we seen him signal the schooner. He built -a little fire on the shore. - -"After a little we saw a light 'way out on the lake. It stayed where -it was an by an' by we heard oars. A boat landed an' a man Hinter -called Cap'n, came across to where he sat by the fire." - -"And did you hear anythin' of what passed between 'em, Billy?" - -"Yep, we heard Hinter say Scroggie was a headstrong fool, an' he -wished he'd never had anythin' to do with him; but that he'd have to -handle him with gloves till he got Lost Man's Swamp away from him." - -Wilson whistled. "What in the world does he want with that swamp, I -wonder?" he cried. - -He stood considering. "We'll just keep what we know to ourselves -till we're quite sure," he said at length. "What d'ye say?" - -Billy nodded. "That's what Trigger Finger 'ud do," he said, "an' -Trigger Finger, he was always right, Pa." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -BILLY TO THE RESCUE - -Nature had crooked a wooded arm about Rond Eau Bay so that her -tranquillity seldom was disturbed by the fall gales which piled the -waters of Lake Erie high and made her a veritable death-trap for -late-sailing ships. To the thunder of heavy waves upon the pine-clad -beach the little bay slept sweetly, while half a league beyond the -bar a tempest-torn, dismasted schooner might be battered to pieces, -or a heavy freighter, her back broken by the twisting seas, might -sink to final rest. But there were times when Rond Eau awoke from -her dreaming to gnash her white teeth and throw her hissing challenge -to man to dare ride her banked-up seas in open boat. At such times -only the foolish or venturesome listened. When the gale swept in -from the East it transformed the upper waters into a seething -cauldron, while, plunging in the nine-mile sweep from the West, it -swept water at the foot, frothing and turbulent, across the rushlands. - -At such times expert indeed must be the hand that guides the frail -skiff through those treacherous seas. But the slim punt which -rounded Mud Point betwixt the darkness and the dawn, in the teeth of -an all night gale, was propelled by one who knew every whimsical mood -of Rond Eau. Now high on frothy comber, now lost to view between the -waves, the little craft beat onward, a speck of driftwood on the -angry waves. Sullen daylight was revealing a world of wind-whipped, -spray-drenched desolation when the punt at last rounded the point and -swept into the comparative calm of the lee shore. Then the rower -shipped his oars and glanced at his companion who sat huddled low in -the bow of the boat, the collar of his shooting coat turned high -about his ears. - -"Phew! teacher, some pull, that! Must'a been half an hour beatin' up -from Levee." - -"It seemed longer than that to me, Billy," laughed Stanhope. "Once -or twice I thought we were goners, but you pulled the old girl -through nobly." - -"I don't know as I ever put her through a rougher sea," said Billy as -he began placing the decoys. "We'll get set, then we'll push into -the rushes, hide our boat, an' settle down comfortable in our blind. -You'll find it warm, an' snug, an' wind-proof as a rat house, soon's -I get a fire started in the little stove. Hello!" as a brown shaggy -head poked itself from beneath the seat and a cold nose touched his -wrist, "did you think I didn't know you was there, Moll?" - -Moll whined and wagged her stub of a tail, undoubtedly sensing from -her master's words and manner that her offense, in "sneakin' in," had -been pardoned. Five minutes later they were seated snugly inside -four walls of tightly woven rushes, the blind man's face alive and -glowing with the joy of once more feeling the moist kiss of open -water, his ears atuned for the first whistle of incoming wings. -Billy crouched by his side, gun in hand, eyes sweeping the lighting -bay. - -Suddenly the spaniel's tail commenced beating a soft tattoo on the -rush floor and Billy's grip tightened on the walnut stock. - -"How many?" whispered Stanhope. - -"Five, bluebill. Comin' right to us." - -A moment later the "swowee" of the cutting wings sounded, close in, -and the old gun spoke twice. - -"Two down," cried Stanhope. "Good work, Billy!" - -Billy took his eyes from the pair of dead ducks, floating shoreward -and turned wonderingly to his companion. - -"Teacher," he said in awed tones, "sometimes I'm sure you kin see. -If you can't see how do you find out things like you do? How did you -know I killed jest two ducks?" - -"Listened for the splash," Stanhope answered. "Are you loaded, -Billy? There's another flock coming." - -"All ready but cappin'. Now, where's the flock?" - -"Coming up from behind, so Moll says." - -"Gosh!" whispered Billy. "I should say so; they're right onto us," -and almost with the words the old gun roared again and again. - -"Good!" exulted Stanhope. "Three down, Billy!" - -"Yep, but one dived an' is gettin' away. After him, Moll." The -spaniel, with a joyful whine, cleared the rush wall and splashed into -the water. "Fine!" cried Billy, as he reloaded, "Moll's goin' to -bring him in." - -"Wounded whistlers aren't as hard to retrieve as redhead or -bluebill," said Stanhope. - -"How did you know they was whistlers?" cried Billy. - -"By the sound of their wings, of course," laughed the man. "There," -as a small duck flashed past the blind, "that's a green-winged teal, -and he's flying at the rate of about ninety miles an hour." - -Eastward the leaden clouds opened to let an arrow of orange light -pierce the damp mists of dawn; then the fissure closed again and -tardy daylight disclosed only a dun-colored waste of cowering rushes -and tossing water. Far out in the bay a great flock of ducks arose, -the beat of their wings growing up above the boom of the wind, stood -black against the lowering skies an instant, then swept like a -gigantic shadow close down above the curling water. Here and there -detached fragments of the flock grew up and drifted shoreward. A -flock of widgeon, gleaming snow-white against the clouds as they -swerved in toward the decoys, were joined by a pair of kingly -canvasbacks. Swiftly they approached, twisted aside just out of -range, and then turned and came in with wings set against the wind. - -Stanhope heard the splash of their bodies, as they lit among the -decoys. He wondered why Billy did not shoot. A tense moment passed -and still the old gun gave no voice. Moll was whining low and -eagerly. Then, suddenly, there arose the sound of webbed feet -slapping water, strong wings lifted to the wind, and Stanhope knew -that the ducks had gone. - -"Billy!" he cried, "why didn't you shoot?" - -"I guess I didn't think about it," said the boy. "There's a boat out -yonder, an' she's havin' trouble. I was watchin' her." - -"A boat in trouble? Where is she?" - -"Out in the middle of the bay. There's two men in her; she must be -shippin' water, 'cause she's low down. She's one of Swanson's boats. -He ought'a know better than let a couple of greenies out on that sea." - -Billy had thrown off his shooting-coat and was climbing out of the -blind. - -"What are you going to do?" asked Stanhope. - -"Goin' out to give a hand," shouted Billy. "No, teacher, you best -stay right here; you can't help me any an' I may have to bring them -two shooters ashore in the punt." - -His last words were drowned in the wind. Already he was dragging the -punt from the reeds. A moment later Stanhope heard the dip of his -oars as he rounded the point and put the tiny craft into the seas and -his cheerful hail, "I'll be back soon, teacher." - -With broadening day the gale had strengthened. Stanhope felt a few -stinging snow-pellets on his face, as he gazed, unseeing, outward and -waited with tense nerves for the hail of his young friend. Half an -hour passed--it seemed like hours to the man waiting, hoping, -fearing--and still Billy did not come. He replenished the fire and, -his hand coming in contact with the coat which Billy had discarded, -he held it on his knees, close to the little stove. Slowly the -minutes dragged past and a cold dread of what might have happened -grew in the blind man's heart. Billy had likely reached the boat -only in time to see it founder and in striving to save its exhausted -occupants----. - -Unable to endure the thought Stanhope sprang to his feet and lifting -his arms high shouted with all his strength, "Billy, Billy boy!" - -"Ho, teacher!" came an answering voice. "We're comin' straight in -with the wind. I've got 'em both." - -Stanhope sank back on his box, his relaxed nerves throbbing and his -lips forming the words: "Thank God!" - -A few minutes later Billy tumbled into the blind. "Quick," he cried, -as he drew on his coat. "They're nigh done fer. We've gotta keep -'em movin'. Good! I see you've heated the tea; I'll jest take it -along. We'll leave gun an' decoys right here with Moll to watch 'em, -'cause we're likely to have our hands full. Are you ready, teacher?" - -"All set," cried Stanhope. "Leave your belt loose so I can hang to -it and I'm with you. That's right. Who were they, Billy?" - -"Couple of shooters from Cleveland. One of 'em's a big, strong -feller, an' he ain't as near done up as the other. I started 'em to -shore along the rush-track. They'll be all hunky so long as they -keep goin'. We best get 'em to the nearest house." - -"Well, that's my place," answered Stanhope. "How am I navigating, -Billy?" - -"Fine; keepin' up as well as though you saw right where you're goin'. -They're only a little ahead now." - -As the wooded shore was reached they came up with the rescued men. -Billy passed the chilled and wretched two the hot tea and after they -had drunk he and Stanhope took the lead through the stumpy fields. - -Half an hour later, seated about the roaring fire in Stanhope's -cottage, huge cups of hot coffee on their knees, the venturesome -strangers seemed none the worse for their trying experience. The -larger of the two, a powerfully-built man with pleasant clean shaven -face and keen blue eyes, turned now to Stanhope. - -"Where did the boy go?" he asked. "He must have been wet to the -skin." - -"He went back to take up the decoys and bring in the boats," answered -Stanhope. "Oh, Billy's used to roughing it. He'll be back directly." - -"By George!" cried the big man, slapping his friend's knee. "There's -a boy for you, Doctor. Why, sir," addressing Stanhope, "not one -youngster in a thousand could have done what he did. When he came to -us our boat was all but swamped. We had given up. My friend here -was utterly helpless with the cold and I was little better. And then -he came riding close in like a mere straw on the waves and something -flashed past me and fell with a bump against our boat-seat. 'Bale,' -he screeched, and I picked up the can he had thrown us and bale I did -for all I was worth. Then he came shooting back. 'You got to get -out of that trough,' he shouted. 'Throw your painter loose, so's I -can grab it as I pass, and I'll straighten your bow to take the -seas.'" - -The speaker paused, his face aglow. "I managed to cast that painter -loose and the boy caught it as he shot past us. Then I felt the -skiff straighten and I heard him shout again, 'Bale! bale like fury!' -So I baled and baled and by and by we shipped less water than I -managed to throw out. All this time that youngster was hauling us in -to safety. I don't know who the boy is, but let me tell you this, my -friend, if I was his daddy I'd be the proudest man on the face of the -earth." - -His companion, a slight, stooped man, the sallowness of whose face -was accentuated by a short black moustache, who had remained almost -silent from the time he had entered the house, looked up at these -words and smiled. "We owe that boy and this gentleman our lives," he -said briefly. - -The big man laid a hand on Stanhope's arm. "My good friend," he -said, "will you allow me to introduce you to the grateful chaps you -have helped save. This gentleman with me is the famous specialist, -Doctor Cavinalt of Cleveland; and yours truly is plain Bill Maddoc of -the same city, lawyer by profession." - -"My friend has forgotten to mention that he is state's attorney and a -noted bugbear to all evil-doers," smiled the doctor. "In other words -he's known as Trail Down Maddoc and--if he will permit of my so -stating--is far more famous in his own particular line than am I in -mine." - -"Tut, tut," cried Maddoc, "what matter such trifles as these at this -time? And now," turning to their host, "if you will honor us?" - -"My name is Stanhope; Frank Stanhope." - -"What?" The lawyer was on his feet and had his hands on Frank's -shoulders. - -"You say Stanhope? Why, man alive! I've been looking high and low -for you. What do you think of that, Doctor, I've found him at last!" - -"Young man," said Maddoc, turning again to Frank, "will you please -answer a few questions? Did you ever know a queer old man by the -name of Scroggie?" - -"Why, yes," Frank answered, somewhat puzzled. "He lived next farm to -me." - -"And," Maddoc resumed, "do you happen to know that he made a will, -leaving all he possessed to you?" - -"Yes, sir, so he said; but the will was never found." - -"And for a very good reason, by George," cried Maddoc. "How could it -be found when it lay safely locked in a deposit box in my vault?" - -"I'm afraid I don't quite understand--" commenced the amazed Stanhope. - -"Of course not, how could you?" cried the lawyer. "But there now, -I'll explain. - -"One morning something over a year ago a queer little man came to my -office. He told me his name, Scroggie, but refused to give me any -address. He said he wished to make his will and insisted that I draw -it up. It was a simple will, as I remember it, merely stating that -'I something-or-other, Scroggie, hereby bequeath all my belongings, -including land and money, to Frank Stanhope.' I made it out exactly -as he worded it, had it sealed and witnessed and handed it to him. -But the old fellow refused to take it. I asked him why, and he said: -'You keep it safe until I send for it. I'm willin' to pay for your -trouble.' - -"'But listen, old man,' I said, 'supposing you should die suddenly. -Life is very uncertain, you know. This will should be left where it -can be easily found, don't you see?" - -"'That's just where I don't want it left,' he says. 'I want it kept -safe. I'll take a chance on dying suddenly.' And by George! the old -fellow got up and shambled out, leaving a twenty-dollar gold piece on -the table." - -"Then," said Frank, moistening his dry lips, "you have the will, Mr. -Maddoc?" - -"I have!" cried the delighted lawyer, "and whether he left you much -or little nobody can dispute your claim. Young man, shake hands -again!" - -But Stanhope had sunk on a chair, his face in his hands. Doctor -Cavinalt went softly over and stood beside him. "My friend," he said -gently, "good news often bowls us over, but perhaps there's even -better news in store for you. Fortune is a good thing, but with -fortune and your eye-sight restored----" - -Frank lifted a wan face. "You mean----?" his dry lips formed the -words. - -The slender sensitive fingers of the specialist lifted the lids of -the unseeing eyes. Intently he examined them, then with a quick -smile that transformed his grave face to almost boyish gladness, he -spoke. - -"It is as I thought, Mr. Stanhope. Your sight is quite unimpaired -and can be restored to you by a simple operation. Your blindness was -caused either from a blow or a fall, was it not?" - -Frank nodded. "A beam struck me," he whispered, "I thought--I -thought--" - -"Tomorrow," said the doctor, retiring once more into his professional -shell, "I shall remove the pressure that obstructs your vision. The -operation, which will be most simple, can be performed here. We have -but to remove all pressure on the nerve centres that refuse their -function now--and you will see." - -He motioned to his friend, and the two went over to the window and -talked together in low tones. - -Stanhope, hands clasped together, sat staring into a vista of shadows -that were all but dissolved. Above them lifted a face that -smiled--and down across sleeping, darkening waters a long ray of -light swept to touch his unseeing eyes and whisper her message of -hope. - -* * * * * - -It was nearly noon when Billy, bending beneath a load of wild ducks, -came up the path to the cottage. Stanhope, reading his step, groped -his way out to meet him. "Ho, Billy Boy," he cried, holding out his -hands. - -Billy placed his wet, cold ones in Stanhope's. "I simply had to stay -an' shoot," he explained. "The ducks were fair poundin' into the -decoys. How are the Cleveland fellers?" - -"Good as ever, Billy, dried out--and gone. Come into the house. -I've got great news." - -Billy turned puzzled eyes on his friend, reading a wonderful -happiness in the glowing face. He dropped his ducks and followed -Stanhope inside. The table was set for dinner and Billy sniffed -hungrily. - -"Now teacher," he said, dropping into a seat by the fire, "give us -the news." - -But Stanhope shook his head. "Not yet, Billy. Wait until you've -eaten. You're hungry--as all hunters are bound to be. There now," -as his housekeeper brought in the meat and potatoes, "sit down and -eat--and eat fast, because I can't keep my good news back much -longer." - -Billy sat down at the table and without a word fell to. Stanhope -stood beside the window, humming a tune, a smile on his face. He -roused himself from his musing, as Billy scraped back his chair. -"Full up?" he asked. - -"Full up, teacher. Now let's have the good news." - -Stanhope told him, his voice not always steady, and Billy sat silent, -his grey eyes growing bigger and bigger. And at the conclusion he -did a very boyish thing. He lowered his head to the table and cried. - -Stanhope groped his way to him, placed his hands gently on the -heaving shoulders, and there they remained until Billy, with a long -sigh, raised his swimming eyes. - -"Teacher," he said. "_She's_ gotta be told about this. You know how -she always hoped----" - -"Yes." - -Billy stood up and reached for his cap. "If Anse comes over, you kin -tell him where I've gone. I'll be back long afore dark." - -"But, Billy, the wind! You'd better not go." - -"The wind's gone down," said the boy. "Jest a fair sailin' breeze -now." - -"She'll come, you think?" - -"She'll come," said Billy, and went out, closing the door softly -behind him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -MR. HINTER MAKES A CONFESSION - -It was the evening of the next day. Frank Stanhope lay on a couch in -a darkened room, a black bandage across his eyes. Erie Landon sat -beside him, holding his hand. The pungent odor of ether hung in the -air. Out in the dining room old Doctor Allworth, from Bridgetown, -was discussing with the specialist things known only to those men of -science. - -Erie was very happy--happier than she had ever expected to be again. -Doctor Cavinalt had pronounced the operation a success; in a week or -ten days the bandage might be taken off. God's world of light and -beauty was to be his again--and hers! - -Stanhope felt the unconscious tightening of her fingers and spoke her -name ever so softly. She gave a little, contented sigh, and nestled -her cool cheek against his own. - -"I was dreaming of the foot of the Causeway," he whispered, "and the -light." - -"And it reached straight across through the blackness to you?" she -asked. - -"Straight to me, dear; and at the farther end of its misty radiance I -saw you standing. You stretched your dear arms out to me and along -the shimmering track, drawn by your great and tender woman's love, I -sped to you." - -"And found me, Frank?" - -"Found you," he echoed joyfully. "Found you as I have prayed through -lightless days I might, some day, find you, blue-eyed girl with heart -of gold; found you with your hope, your loyalty, your tenderness and -your forgiveness." - -"And now," she whispered, "there lie the days of sunshine and -happiness ahead of us, Frank; and oh, how we will enjoy them, you and -I and Billy." - -"Yes, we mustn't forget Billy, God bless him." - -In the outer room the learned discussion was terminated suddenly by a -loud exclamation from the old doctor. - -"God love us, it's a crow!" he cried, "and the rascal has -appropriated my glasses! Laid 'em on my chair-arm for an instant and -the cheeky beggar swooped in through the open window and picked 'em -up." - -"That's Croaker," laughed Erie. "Billy won't be far behind him. I -had better go out and explain things, Frank." - -She touched her warm lips to his and went into the adjoining room to -find Croaker perched on a curtain-pole, animatedly congratulating -himself on the new and wonderful shiny thing he had been so fortunate -as to discover. - -"Croaker," Erie called. At the sound of her voice the crow stopped -trying to tear the nosepiece from the lens and cocked his head -side-wise. - -"Kowakk," he gurgled, which meant "I thought I knew you, Miss, but I -guess I don't." - -"Croaker, good old Croaker, come down and I'll get you a cookie," -Erie begged. - -Croaker considered this last statement a moment. Then he carefully -raised one foot and twisted half way around on the bar. - -"A cookie, a nice fat cookie, with a raisin in its centre," coaxed -the girl. - -The crow lifted the other foot and with much fluttering and -complaining managed to get all the way around. - -Mrs. Burke had brought in a plate of cookies. Erie took one and held -it up, as an enticement to Croaker. - -"Want it?" she asked. "Then come down and be a good crow." - -Then it was that Croaker, gripping the glasses in one black claw, -burst into a cry of joyful recognition. - -Just at this juncture the shed door was nosed softly open and a -striped, furry animal rolled into the room like a ball and, raising -himself on his hind legs, took the cookie from Erie's hand. - -"Ringdo, you old sweetheart!" cried the girl and, reaching for the -big swamp-coon, gathered him into her arms. - -Doctor Allworth, after one startled look at the ferocious-looking -newcomer, had climbed upon the table and now gazed wildly at the -strange sight of a golden haired girl holding to her bosom a wild -animal which might be anything from a wolf to a grizzly, for aught he -knew. - -At the sound of the girl's voice the swamp coon had dropped the -cookie, and as she swept him into her arms his slender red tongue -darted forth to give the curling tress above her ear an affectionate -caress. Ringdo recognized in Erie the playmate who used to romp with -him and stray with him along spongy moss and clayey ditches. - -At this particular moment Croaker, from whom attention had for the -time being been diverted, came into evidence again. At first sight -of his old enemy the crow had grown rigid with anger; his black -neck-ruff had stood up like the feathers on an Indian warrior's head -dress and into his beady eyes had sprung the fighting-fire. When -Ringdo got possession of the cookie he raised his short wings and -prepared to swoop, strike, and if luck held, swoop again. But when -the coon dropped the cookie that he might show the girl who had come -back to the old playground that he was glad Croaker promptly changed -his mind. He swooped, but on the precious cookie instead of on -Ringdo, and with the prize in his black beak and the glasses dangling -from one black claw, he went out of the open window like a dark -streak. - -The old doctor sighed dolefully. "Well, my glasses are gone," he -murmured. "And how I will ever do without 'em, I don't know." Then, -becoming suddenly aware of his ridiculous position, he stepped -ponderously down from the table to his chair. - -Hiding her laughing face in Ringdo's long fur, Erie reassured him. -"Please, Doctor Allworth, don't be frightened of this old coon," she -said. "Indeed, he is quite harmless." - -"Perhaps so," returned the old gentleman dryly, "but, you see, I -happen to have heard an opinion of friend Ringdo's gentle nature from -a certain learned pedagogue, whose wounds I dressed recently. So, my -dear young lady, if you will be good enough to keep tight hold of him -for a moment, I'll follow my renowned friend into the parlor and -learn how Frank is coming along." And suiting the action to the -words he edged slowly around the table and, backing into the parlor, -closed the door. - -"Ringdo," cried Erie, slapping the coon's fat sides, "you can't -possibly see your friend, Frank, now so come along. We'll have a -race down the path and a scramble among the leaves." - -She caught her hat from a peg, opened the door, and Ringdo gamboled -out before her. Down the path to the gate they sped and out into the -tree-hedged road. Already the frost-pinched leaves, crimson-veined -and golden, were being swung to earth by a soft wind that promised -snow. With Ringdo galloping clumsily beside her Erie went down the -road, trilling a snatch of a song. - -She did not realize what a perfect picture she presented, with her -golden hair wind-strewn, her red lips parted, and the old joy singing -in her heart and kindling a light in her eyes. But the boy who met -her at the curve in the road realized it, and his face grew wistful -as he asked: "Is he all right, Erie?" - -"He is all right, Billy," she answered softly. - -Billy's grey eyes grew big with realization and a long sigh escaped -his lips. He bent above the coon, who had sprawled in the dust, all -four feet in the air, inviting a tussle. The girl saw something -glitter and splash on the dark fur and her throat tightened. "Oh -Billy, Billy," she choked, and with all the abandon of her nature -stooped and gathered boy and animal close to her. - -A little later they went back up the road, side by side. Ringdo -having heard the call of the forest-creek had strayed into the -tangle, perhaps hoping to find a fat frog which had not yet sought -its winter sleeping-bog. They paused to watch a red squirrel flash -along the zig-zag fence and halt, with twitching tail, as the chatter -of the black he was pursuing came down to him from swaying hickory -tree-top. High overhead a flock of crows passed silently, black -hurtling bodies seeming to brush the grey, low hanging skies as they -melted into distance. High above, the shrill whistle of wings told -of wild ducks seeking the marshes and the celery beds of the bay. - -"Erie," spoke the boy as they turned to resume their way, "Ma told me -to tell you that she'd be over ag'in tonight to stay with you. She's -had an awful time keepin' teacher's friends from swarmin' over to see -how he was gettin' along an' she says she simply had to promise that -they could come over after supper. I guess the whole Settlement is -over to our place. I better lope along an' tell 'em the good news." -He turned away as they reached the gate--then hesitated. - -"Anything I can tell him, Billy?" asked Erie, noticing his reluctance. - -"No, but there's somethin' I ought'a tell you, I guess," he answered. -"I've jest come from old Swanson's boardin' house, at the foot. Mr. -Maddoc an' the specialist doctor are goin' to leave there an' stay at -teacher's, as you likely know?" - -Erie nodded. "They told me all about it. How they are going to -shoot from your Mud Point, and how good it was of you to let them," -she smiled. - -Billy grinned. "Say!" he murmured, "as if there was anythin' any of -us wouldn't do fer them now. Well, Mr. Maddoc, who's havin' Joe -Scraff drive down fer their stuff tonight, was comin' along up with -me when we met Hinter, 'bout a mile back on the road." - -He paused and searched the girl's face. "You see, Erie," he said -slowly, "I'd been tellin' Mr. Maddoc all about how Hinter an' -Scroggie had been tryin' to find water fer us, an' how they had had a -barrel of oil explode, an' every thin'. Somehow he didn't seem a bit -like a stranger. I didn't mind tellin' him at all. Why, I even told -him about the Twin Oaks store robbery, an' about Hinter wantin' to -get hold of Lost Man's Swamp, an' everythin'. - -"He was awful interested, an' asked me to show him the fenced-in -well. So we took 'cross the fields an' he saw it. He went all -around the walls an' even climbed up one side of 'em, an' looked -over. When he came down he said: 'Jest as I thought, Billy. That -explosion you spoke of was a charge of nitro glycerine.' We struck -back fer the road an' I guess he was thinkin' hard, 'cause he didn't -talk any more. Then, as we was climbin' the fence to the road he -asks: 'What kind of a chap is this man, Hinter, Billy?" - -"'Why,' I says, 'there he is now.' Hinter had jest climbed the -opposite fence an' stepped into the road. Mr. Maddoc slid down an' -went right up to him. Hinter's face turned white when he saw Mr. -Maddoc. He couldn't speak fer a minute, an' then all he did was -mumble somethin'. - -"'Billy,' Mr. Maddoc says to me, 'would you go on a piece an' leave -me alone with this man. You see we've met before an' I want'a ask -him some questions.' - -"So I come on an' I guess Mr. Maddoc had a whole lot of questions to -ask fer he ain't come yet." - -Erie was standing against the gate, her arms stretched along its top, -hands clenching its rough pickets. - -"There, he's coming now, Billy," she whispered, as the lawyer's tall -form swung about the curve in the road. "No, don't go yet; perhaps -he will have something more to tell us." - -But the lawyer, apparently, had nothing to tell them. Gravely he -lifted his hat to Erie, threw a smile of good-fellowship to Billy and -turned up the path to the cottage. - -* * * * * - -No sooner had Billy gone, leaving Maddoc alone with Hinter, than the -lawyer's manner underwent a lightning change. His big face lost its -jovial look and the bushy eyebrows contracted to sinister juts on his -puckered brow, as the cold eyes beneath them probed the man before -him. - -"Well, Jacobs--or whatever your name happens to be now--what are you -doing here?" he asked. - -Hinter, with an effort, shook off his first cringing fear. -"Supposing I tell you that it's none of your business, Mr. Maddoc," -he said, with a poor attempt at bluff. "I am not under your -jurisdiction here." - -"Oh, is that so? Well, my smooth friend, you're liable to learn that -my jurisdiction extends further than you think. Now see here, -Jacobs. You know--and I know--that I have enough on you already to -put you away where you'll do little harm for several years to come. -Do you want me to do it?" - -"No." The man's answer was nothing more than a spiritless murmur. -Maddoc, he knew, had his record and had spoken truly when he said he -had the goods on him. "No," he repeated with a shudder. - -"Then come clean, Jacobs. Now then, what's your game?" - -"I came here after you drove me from the Pennsylvania oil fields," -said the other, realizing the uselessness of lying. - -"Why?" - -"To prospect; to look for a new field. I figured that the -Pennsylvania vein would come out about here and extend northward." - -"Sounds reasonable. And you still think so, eh?" - -"Yes." - -"Is that your well with the jail-wall about it, yonder?" - -"No, I bored it but it belongs to Pennsylvania Scroggie, the man whom -you helped defeat the Southern lease ring." - -If Maddoc was surprised, he did not show it. "You struck oil, I see, -Jacobs." - -"Yes, about an eight-a-day well." - -"Deep?" - -"No, surface." - -"And Scroggie--does he know your record?" - -"Certainly not. Oh for God's sake stop probing me this way. I'm -willing to tell all there is to tell." - -"That suits me, Jacobs. Go on." - -"As I say, I came here to prospect. I found plenty of surface -evidence of oil and gas but without capital I was helpless. I -learned that a thousand-acre tract of woods, rich in oil indications, -was owned by Pennsylvania Scroggie. I knew that he was a hog and -that if I showed my hand too clearly he would kick me under and go it -alone. Through a friend who owned a lake schooner I made Scroggie a -proposition. I guaranteed to show him a virgin oil territory and -operate his rigs for a certain percentage of the output. This he -agreed to. Then he came and when he found that the vein lay on his -own land he was furious and tried to break the contract. - -"I had anticipated his doing something like this and had provided -against it. Old man Scroggie, the original owner of this land, had -left a will, bequeathing all he owned to a young man of this -district, Stanhope by name. Scroggie, I knew, was afraid of the will -coming to light and I worked on this fear. It was known throughout -this community that the one friend old Scroggie had trusted was -Spencer, the store-keeper, who, having quarreled with the elder -Stanhope over a survey of property, held a secret grudge against his -son, Frank." - -"And," said the lawyer as Jacobs paused to wipe his beaded brow, "you -thought the will lay in Spencer's safe, and that he was holding it -away because of petty malice?" - -"Exactly." - -"And knowing that in spite of his many short-comings Pennsylvania -Scroggie wouldn't deliberately rob young Stanhope of the property, -providing he knew for sure that his uncle had made the young man his -heir, you made up your mind to blow Spencer's safe and get hold of -the will yourself--supposing it was there, and so make sure of your -own little rake-off." - -Jacobs gazed at the lawyer wonderingly. "How did you know?" he -stammered. - -"I know, Jacobs, that you and your henchmen, Tom Standish and Jack -Blake, robbed Twin Oaks store and blew the safe; also that you were -disappointed. There was no will there. Where you made your big -mistake, my friend, was in misjudging Pennsylvania Scroggie. For -instance, when you lied to him and told him that you had found the -will, and threatened to turn it over to the rightful heir, providing -he did not give you a clear deed to Lost Man's Swamp--what did he say -to you?" - -The question stung the other as a leather lash stings quivering flesh. - -"What did he say to you?" repeated the lawyer, and the wretched man -on the rack answered hopelessly: "He told me that if I didn't give -the will up to Stanhope he would have me arrested and sent to the -pen." - -A little smile curled the corners of Maddoc's stern mouth. "Well, -that's Pennsylvania Scroggie," he said, as though to himself. "Hard, -bull-headed and a sharper in every legitimate sense but square as -they make 'em. And you," he asked, pointedly, "what did you do?" - -"Of course I had to own up that I had lied. He had me down on my -knees all right, but I was valuable to him right then. We had -started boring on his land. He said that he would give me another -chance but that I would have to keep honest." - -The man who had the reputation of being able to read criminals -unerringly glanced keenly at the man's face. - -"And you've found the condition too difficult; isn't that so?" he -asked. - -"No, Mr. Maddoc, as God is my witness, I was keeping honest and -intended to go on." Jacobs had drawn his drooping form erect, and -now spoke with a certain dignity. - -Maddoc was silent for a moment. Then his square chin shot forward. - -"Jacobs," he said, crisply, "I'll give you twenty-four hours in which -to lose yourself. You can't stay here." - -Something like a sigh escaped the man who listened to this edict. He -took a lagging step or two forward. - -"Wait," said the lawyer. "Tell me, Jacobs, is there anything in this -world you care for outside of yourself and your ambition to climb to -fortune over the necks of others? I'm curious to know." - -"Yes," answered the other, without hesitation. "There is something; -there are dogs and children." - -"Dogs and children," repeated the lawyer. "Dogs and children." He -stood looking away through the failing light to where a strip of -mauve-lined sky peeked through the heavy tissue of cloud. - -"And what do dogs and children think of you?" he asked, abruptly. - -"Both trust me," said Jacobs simply and Maddoc knew that he spoke the -truth. He strode across and put his hands on the shoulders of the -man from whom he had wrung confession. - -"Listen!" he said harshly. "You know me and you know I don't often -give a man like you more than a second chance. You have had your -second chance and failed. But see here, I'm not infallible. If dogs -and children trust you there must be some good in you, and by George! -I'm going to do something which is either going to prove the biggest -piece of damn foolishness or the biggest coup I have ever pulled off -in my life. I'm going to take my grip from your throat, Jacobs, and -leave you to the dogs and the children. - -"Now, here's some news for you. The will has been found and Frank -Stanhope is heir to the Scroggie forest-lands. But if there is oil -here--and there is--both you and Pennsylvania Scroggie will be -needed. I have no doubt but a satisfactory arrangement on a share -producing plan can be made with the owner of the land. I'll see -Pennsylvania Scroggie tonight and he'll do what I ask. I pulled him -out of a rather tight hole and I guess he won't have forgotten. Come -over to Stanhope's cottage in the morning. Now remember what the -children and dogs expect of you, my friend; good-bye until tomorrow." - -He smiled and held out his hand. The other man took it dazedly, then -slowly and with head lifted towards the darkening skies, he passed -down the road. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -A GOLDEN WEDDING GIFT - -Bad news travels fast but good news wings its way quite as speedily. -Life teaches the human heart to accept the one bravely and to laugh -happily with the other, for after all life is just a ringing note -that sounds through and above the eternal weaving of God's -shuttle--at times clear, reaching to the highest stars; at other -times a minor wail of pain. But the weaving goes on, drab threads -mingling with the brighter ones; and so the heart learns to -withstand, and better still to hope. It may be, when the shuttle -runs slower and the fabric is all but woven, if the weaver is brave -and strong he is able to decipher the riddle of it all. "If you -would experience happiness, find it in the happiness of others." - -Now the unrest and uncertainty which had overshadowed Scotia for -months had been miraculously lifted and in its place was rest and -certainty. Sorrow and pity for the man who had been stricken with -blindness gave place to joy and congratulation. Swifter-winged than -the harbinger of sorrow, which sometimes falters in its flight as -though loath to cause a jarring note deep within God's harmony, -flashed the joyful news that Frank Stanhope had come into his -inheritance and would see again. For a week following the wonderful -news the people of the Settlement did little else than discuss it -together. Man, woman and child they came to the vine-covered cottage -to tell Stanhope they were glad. - -Pennsylvania Scroggie had been one of the first to offer his -congratulations. "Young man," he said to Stanhope, "I'm some rough -on the outside but I reckon I'm all right inside. You've got your -sight back and you've got, in this fine piece of land my old uncle -left you, what promises to be a real oil field. Hinter and I are -going to develop it for you, if you've no objections. And you've got -a whole lot more than that," glancing at Erie, who stood near. And -Stanhope, sensing the sterling worth of the man, shook hands gladly. - -Lawyer Maddoc and Doctor Cavinalt had gone back to Cleveland, -promising to return every fall so long as their welcome held out and -Billy was there to guide them about and save their lives, if -necessary. - -Old Harry O'Dule's dream was about to be realised, Stanhope had -assured him that he would see to it that he should play his whistle -beneath Ireland's skies before another autumn dawned. - -It was a world of silence, a world bathed in golden haze, that -Stanhope gazed upon with the restoration of his sight. A long time -his eyes dwelt upon the vista before him, with its naked trees -piercing the mauve-line of morning mist shimmering above the yellow -wood-smoke. The girl beside him knew from the tightening hand on -hers and the awe that paled his quivering face that the silence spoke -a thankfulness which mere words could never express. So she waited, -and after a long time he turned slowly and holding her at arm's -length, smiled down into her eyes. - -"And you, too," he whispered. "With all this, I have you, too." - -"You know that you have always had me, Prank," ahe said softly. - -"But more than ever I want you now; more than ever I need you. -Erie," he said earnestly, "are you willing to marry me right -away--next week?" - -"Oh Frank--" she began, but he checked her utterance with his lips. - -"The Reverend Reddick is available at any day, any hour, Lighthouse -girl; he's conducting revival services in the Valley church. It will -all be so simple. Won't you say next week?" - -She gazed into his radiant face with serious eyes. "But Frank," she -whispered, "it may be cold and dismal next week, I--I always thought -that I should like our wedding to be---" - -Her head went down to hide against his arm. - -"Go on, Lighthouse girl. You always thought you would like our -wedding to be--when?" - -"On a golden, Indian summer day like this," she finished and closed -her eyes as his arms went about her. - -* * * * * - -"And ut's married they were this mornin', whilst the dew still clung -to the mosses, and ut's meself was witness to the j'inin' av two av -the tinderest hearts in all the wurruld." Old Harry O'Dule, on his -rounds to spread the joyful tidings of Frank and Erie's marriage, had -met Billy leading a fat bay horse along a sun-streaked forest path. - -Billy stared at the old man; then his face broke into a grin. "O -Gee!" he sighed, and sinking on a log, closed his eyes. "O Gee!" he -repeated--leaping to his feet and throwing his arms about the neck of -the bay and yelling into that animal's twitching ear. "Hear that, -you Thomas? They're married, Erie an' Teacher Stanhope's married!" - -"Billy, is ut clane crazy ye've gone?" chided the old man, "that ye'd -be afther deafenin' the poor steed wid yer yellin'? Listen now, fer -ut's more I'll be tellin' ye." - -Billy kicked his hat high in air and turned a handspring. "Tell me -all about it, Harry. You saw 'em married, did you?" - -"Faith and I did," cried Harry. "And play 'em a weddin' march on me -whistle I did, soft as a spring rain and swate as the very joy they -do be feelin' this day. A king he looked, Billy, and his bride a -quane, ivery inch av her. But no more av your questions now," he -broke off, "fer step along I must, singin' me thankfulness from me -whistle, and spakin' the good tidings to them I mate along the way." - -Billy watched the old man move down the path, the wild strains of the -Irish tune he was playing falling on his ears long after the player -had been swallowed up in the golden haze. Then he too passed on, bay -Thomas walking sedately behind. As he rounded a bend he met Maurice -Keeler and Jim Scroggie, heads close together and speaking animatedly. - -"Ho, Bill!" cried Maurice. "Bringin' bay Thomas up to the stable fer -winter, eh? Gee! Jim, look at that horse; did you ever see such a -change in anythin' in your life?" - -"Thomas has sure fattened up," grinned Jim. "I guess it would puzzle -old Johnston to know our horse now, eh, Bill?" - -"You mean your horse, Jim," corrected Billy. - -"No, I don't either; he's only a third mine. One third's yours and -the other third's Maurice's." - -Maurice and Billy stared at him. "It was your money paid fer him," -Billy asserted. - -"Well, what of it? Maurice found him a soft hidin' place and good -pasture on his Dad's farm, didn't he?" - -"Sure, but then--" - -"And it's you who's gain' to see that he gets cared for all winter, -ain't it?" - -"You bet it is," cried Billy. - -"Well then, I claim he's a company horse an' you an' me an' Maurice -is that company. Now, that's settled, let me tell you what Maurice -and me was talkin' about when you met us." - -Billy unsnapped the tie-strap from Thomas' halter so that he might -crop the wayside grass without hindrance and sat down on a log -opposite the one occupied by his friends. - -Jim nudged Maurice but Maurice shook his head. "You tell him," he -said. - -"Bill," Jim cried eagerly. "I got a bit of news for you that'll make -you want to stand on your head and kick splinters off the trees." - -Billy grinned. "An' I got a piece of news fer you fellers, too," he -returned. "But go on, your news first, Jim." - -"Teacher Stanhope has made over a deed of Lost Man's Swamp to you, -Bill," said Jim. "I heard Dad telling Mr. Hinter all about it. Dad -was there when Lawyer Maddoc drew up the deed--Maurice, you crazy -hyena, will you keep quiet?" - -Maurice had rolled backward off the log, the while he emitted cries -that would have done a scalp-hunting Indian credit. "Three cheers -fer Bill!" he yelled. "He discovered Lost Man's Swamp oil field. -Trigger Finger Tim ain't got nuthin' on our Bill." - -Billy was standing up now, his perplexed face turned questioningly on -his chums. - -"That's right, Bill," cried Jim. "You really did discover it, you -know. Hinter said he was the only one who knew the oil was there -until you rafted out to the ponds and saw the oil-bubbles breakin' on -'em. He says that a fortune likely lies there, so you see--" - -"An' Teacher Stanhope, he deeded the swamp to me," said Billy -dazedly. He got up from the log and squared his shoulders. "Well," -he spoke, "that was mighty good of him, but I ain't wantin' that -swamp." - -"But Bill," urged Jim, "the oil they've found there'll make you rich." - -Billy shook his head. "I'm as rich as I ever want'a be right now, -Jim." - -"Look here, Bill," cried Maurice. "You don't want'a hurt Teacher -Stanhope's feelin's, do you!" - -Billy glanced at him quickly, a troubled look in his eyes. "N-no," -he said, "you bet I don't." - -"Then that's all there is to it; you keep Lost Man, that's what you -do." - -Billy considered. "I ain't sayin' jest what I'll do," he spoke -finally. "I gotta ask another person's advice on this thing. But if -I do take it you, Jim, an' you, Maurice, are goin' to be my partners -in Lost Man same's you are in bay Thomas. Here, Maurice, you take -Thomas to our stable an' give him a feed. I gotta go somewhere -else." And leaving Jim and Maurice sitting, open-mouthed, Billy -ducked into the timber. - -Not until he had put some distance between himself and hia friends -did he remember that he had not told them the great and wonderful -news that had been imparted to him by old Harry. Well, never mind, -they would hear it soon. Harry would see to that. He turned into a -path that strayed far up among clumps of red-gold maples and -ochre-stained oaks. The whistle of quail sounded from a ridge of -brown sumachs. Up the hill, across the deep valley, where -wintergreen berries gleamed like drops of blood among the mosses, he -passed slowly and on to the beech-crowned ridge. - -Here he paused and his searching eyes sought the lower sweep of -woodland. A clump of tall poplars gleamed silvery-white against the -dark green of the beeches; far down at the end of the sweep the -yellow tops of hardy willows stood silhouetted against the undying -green of massed cedars and pines. Billy gazed down upon it all and -his heart swelled with the deep joy of life, his nerves tingled to -the tang of the woodland scents. Something deep, stirring, -mysterious, had come to him. He did not know what that something -was--it was too vague and incomprehensible for definition just yet. - -His arm about the trunk of a tree, he laughed softly, as his eyes, -sweeping the checker-board of autumn's glories, rested at last on the -grove of coniferous trees. So that was the haunted grove? That -dark, silent, spicy bit of isolated loneliness far below was the spot -he had so feared! But he feared it no longer. _She_ had cured him -of that. _She_ had said that fear of the supernatural was foolish; -and of course she was right. - -A fat red-squirrel frisked down a tree close beside hia and halted, -pop-eyed, to gaze upon him. "I tell you," Billy addressed it -gravely, "it takes a good woman to steady a man." The statement was -not of his own creation. He had heard it somewhere but he had never -understood its meaning before. It seemed the fitting thing to say -now and there was nobody to say it to except the squirrel. - -A blue-jay and a yellow-hammer flashed by him, side by side, racing -for the grubbing-fields of the soft woods below, their blue and -yellow bodies marking twin streaks against the hazy light. Blue and -yellow, truly the most wonderful colors of all the colorful world, -thought Billy. The scene faded and in its place grew up a face with -blue, laughing eyes and red, smiling lips, above which gleamed a halo -of spun gold. Then the woodland picture swam back before him and the -squirrel, which with the characteristic patience of its kind had -waited to watch this boy who often threw it a nut-kernel, called -after him chidingly as he dipped down into the valley. - -Billy was still thinking of the only girl when he topped the farther -ridge and descended into the valley where stood the haunted grove. -He wondered what she would say when he told her the great news he had -to tell her. He thought he knew. She would put her hand on his arm -and say: "Billy, I'm glad." Well, he was on his way to hear her say -it. As he entered a clump of cedars he saw her. She wore a cloak of -crimson; her hat had slipped to her shoulders and her hair glowed -softly through the shadowy half lights. She stood beside old man -Scroggie's grave, a great bunch of golden-rod in her arms. - -Billy called and she turned to him with a smile. - -"Oh, I'm so glad you came, Billy," she said. "You can help me -decorate uncle's grave." - -She dropped the yellow blossoms on the mound and they went out into -the sunshine together and gathered more. When they had finished the -task they went across to the weedy plot in which stood the -tumble-down hut. There, seated side by side beneath a gnarled -wild-apple tree, Billy told her all he had to tell her, and heard her -say, just as he knew she would say, "Billy, I'm glad." - -Then between them fell silence, filled with understanding and -contentment and thoughts that ran parallel the same long track -through future promise. Billy spoke, at length: "He's goin' to take -the school ag'in. An' him an' me are goin' to build that sail-boat -we've always wanted--a big broad-beamed, single sticker that'll carry -all of us--you, me, teacher, Erie an' anybody wants to come along. -Gee! ain't it great?" - -The girl nodded. "And what will you name her?" she asked. Into -Billy's cheeks the blood sprang as into his heart joy ran riot. - -"I aim to call her _Lou_," he said hesitatingly. "That is if you -don't mind." - -The golden head was bowed and when it was raised to him, he saw a -deeper color in the cheeks, a softer glow in the eyes. "Come," she -said softly, "we must be getting back." - -They crossed the sunflecked grass, hand in hand. As they reached the -pine grove the girl pointed away above the trees. "Look," she -whispered. - -Billy's gaze followed hers. High above the trees a black speck came -speeding toward them, a speck which grew quickly into a bird, a big, -black bird, who knew, apparently, just where he was going. - -"It's Croaker," Billy whispered. "Stand right still, Lou, an' we'll -watch an' find out what his game is." - -He drew her a little further among the pines and they peered out to -see Croaker alight on the broken-backed ridge pole of the log hut. - -Here, with many low croaks, he proceeded to search his surroundings -with quick, suspicious eyes, straining forward to peer closely at -scrub or bush, then cunningly twisting about suddenly as though -hoping to take some skulking watcher behind him unawares. - -Finally he seemed satisfied that he was alone. His harsh notes -became soft guttural cooes. He nodded his big head up and down in -grave satisfaction, tip-toeing from one end of the ridge-pole to the -other and chuckling softly to himself. Then suddenly, he vanished -from sight. - -"Where has he gone?" whispered Lou. - -"Hush," warned Billy. His heart was pounding. - -The watchers stood with eyes glued to the ridge-pole. By and by they -saw a black tail-feather obtrude itself from a hole just beneath the -roof's gable. A black body followed and Croaker came tiptoeing back -along the ridge. - -The girl felt her companion's hand tighten spasmodically on hers. -She glanced up to find him staring, wide-eyed at the bird. - -"Billy!" she whispered, almost forgetting caution in her anxiety. -"What is it?" - -He pointed a shaking finger at Croaker. "See that shiny thing that -old rogue has in his bill, Lou!" he asked. "What do you 'spose that -is?" - -"Why, what is it?" - -"It's one of the gold pieces your uncle hid away. Come on, now we'll -see that Croaker throw a fit." - -They stepped out into plain view of the crow, who was muttering to -the gold-piece which he now held before his eyes in one black claw. -Croaker lowered his head and twisted it from side to side in sheer -wonder. He could scarcely believe his eyes. Then as Billy stepped -forward and called him by name his black neck-ruff arose in anger -and, dropping his prized bit of gold, he poured out such a torrent of -abuse upon the boy and girl that Lou put her fingers in her ears to -stop the sound. - -"He's awful mad," grinned Billy. "He's been keepin' this find to -himself fer a long time." At sound of his master's voice Croaker -paused in his harangue and promptly changed his tactics. He swooped -down to Billy's shoulder and rubbed the top of his glossy head -against the boy's cheek, whispering low and lying terms of endearment. - -Lou laughed, "What's he up to now, Billy?" - -"He's tryin' to coax me away from his treasure," Billy answered. -"Now, jest watch him." - -"What you want'a do, Croaker?" he asked, stroking the bird's neck -feathers smooth. - -"Kawak!" said Croaker, and jumping to the ground he started away, -head twisted backward toward the boy and girl, coaxing sounds pouring -from his half open beak. - -"No, sir," cried Billy. "You don't fool me ag'in. I'm goin' to -climb up there an' see jest how much gold is hid in that hole under -the gable." - -Croaker watched him reach for a chink in the logs and raise himself -toward the treasure house. Then he became silent and sat huddled up, -wings drooping discontentedly, his whole aspect one of utter despair. - -Lou, bending to caress him, heard Billy give an exclamation, and ran -forward. "It's here, Lou," he cried excitedly, "a tin box an' a -shot-bag full of gold in a hollered-out log. The bag has been ripped -open by Croaker. I'll have to go inside to get the box out." - -He dropped to the sward and stepped through an unglazed window into -the hut. Nailed to one end was a crude ladder. Billy climbed the -ladder and peered closely at the log which held the money. To all -appearances it was exactly like its fellows, no door, no latch to be -seen. And still, he reasoned, there must be an opening of some kind -there. He lit a match and held it close to the log. Then he -whistled. What he had mistaken for a pine knot was a small button -fixed, as he saw now, in a tiny groove. He moved the button and a -small section of the log fell, spraying him with musty dust. - -Another moment and he was outside beside Lou, bag and box in his -arms. Croaker was nowhere to be seen; neither was the gold piece -which he had dropped in his amazement at sight of Billy and Lou. - -"He went back and got it," said the girl, in answer to Billy's look -of amazement. "And, Billy, he flew away in an awful grouch." - -"Oh, he'll soon get over it," laughed Billy. "We'll find him waitin' -fer us farther on." - -They crossed the lot and went through the pines to the sunny open. -There, on a mossy knoll, Lou spread her cloak, and Billy poured the -gold from bag and box upon it. - -Lou started to count the money. Billy sat back, watching her. "Yes, -sir," he mused, "it certainly takes a good woman to steady a man." -For ten glorious minutes he built air castles and dreamed dreams. - -"Two thousand nine hundred and forty dollars," Low announced, and -Billy jumped up. - -"Whew!" he whistled, "an' all gold, too. The three pieces that -Croaker took make the even three thousand." - -They placed the money back in the box and bag. Then Billy, picking -up the treasure, spoke gently. - -"It'll make 'em a grand weddin' gift, Lou." - -"Yes," she answered, "a grand wedding gift, Billy." - -In silence they passed on through the upland gowned in hazy, golden -spray. At the height of land they paused to look down across the -sweeping country below them. Then blue eyes sought grey and hand in -hand, with a new glad vista of life opening before them, they went on -into the valley. - - - -THE END. - - - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Son of Courage, by Archie P. 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