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"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. 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. "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..

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"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?" "No, nor can I get to hear of her," answered Miss Acton, whose voice trembled with tears and terror. "Wasn't she down on the wharves?" "And what's your name?" "I aim to call her Lou," he said hesitatingly. "That is if you don't mind.".