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Meanwhile, Lucy crossing the bridge pursued the road to Old Harbour Town. She walked up an incline as gradual and pleasant as the lane which had brought her to the river. The hedges on either side stood thick, and the road was sentinelled by trees which when robed in their foliage transformed a long space of it into a beautiful avenue. The way took her straight to Lower Street, at the corner of which stood "The Swan" Tavern, a posting-house with a signboard that swang rustily through the long dark night, but behind its little lower windows a glimpse of old-world comfort could be caught: a sanded floor, a dark-polished table ringed with impressions of immemorial mugs of ale set down upon it, a little grate high perched in a setting of china, an old Dutch clock, and a black-board for the score.,
"Didn't see Scraff, did you?" asked Wilson.,
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"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.
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"It seems to be the only thing that helps," gasped Landon as he swallowed the draught.,
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.,
Mr Greyquill shrugged his shoulders.,
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.
Amongst those who just then were standing upon the quay-side gazing with more or less of interest at the Minorca and the other vessels moored to the walls, was old Mr Greyquill, whose figure was immediately [Pg 107]conspicuous by reason of his long white hair and heavily white thatched eyebrows. And this day he wore a round velvet cap such as might have been suggested to him by a portrait by some old Flemish artist, and a velvet coat. He stood on the wharf a few paces behind some people who formed a little group, and peered at the Minorca with the sharp of his hand pressed against his brow seeking to determine the faces he saw on board. He was too far off to recognise the Admiral and Captain Acton, who now appeared, but the moment Mr Lawrence's head was visible above the bulwark-rail he knew him, and seemed to try to catch his eye, but Lawrence, who instantly perceived him, averted his gaze or turned his back, and after steadily staring for some moments under the shelter of his hand the old fellow shuffled off.
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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.
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"Wonderfully dyed fish——" said Lucy.
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>"Take your seat," commanded the teacher. "Next boy forward!" One by one the boys walked up to receive their punishment. All took it bravely.
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