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They gently rolled the dead, or dying, man on to his back, and the nature of his injury appeared. He was clothed in white trousers, a light blue coat, and a shirt the front of which was ornamented by some light tracing like flowers. He was without a cravat, and his head was uncovered. The left side of his shirt was soaked in blood, and the singed hole through which the bullet had passed from the weapon whose muzzle he had pressed to his breast, was visible in the thick of the dark crimson dye. His face was marble-white. It wore an expression of torture. His lips were parted and grey. The eyelids were half-closed, and the whites of the eye only were visible.,
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.,
"Only he can't prove it, kin he?",
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"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?",
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.",
This was proof conclusive that Miss Acton had not.,
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.
"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.
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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.
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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.
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"I know, sir," she exclaimed with the vehement indignation and contempt conveyed by that perfection of art which conceals art and which is a gift of intuition beyond the reach of those not born with it, "that Sir William Lawrence has a son, and that he was dismissed from the Navy for a brutal, drunken outrage of which he alone, of all the gentlemen and officers in the Service, was capable."
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Halin-Chen Response,
>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."
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