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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.,
"What luck, sonny?" called the man, Tom, as he passed.,
"Why, yes, sir, course I do. But I never should ha' thought it. Why of all the young ladies——",
"Concerning the purported will of the eccentric Mr. Scroggie?" he ventured at length, his host having lapsed into silence.
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The teacher followed his host, gingerly rubbing the knuckles which had been left blue by the farmer's strong grip.,
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.,
"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.,
"Erie out in her boat?" he asked, casually. "I don't hear her voice, or her whistle."
"The best of fathers have known your lot, sir," answered Captain Weaver. "There is no need to go to the Old Testament to learn that."
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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."
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He stiffened himself, and saluted her by a flourish of his hand to his brow, and answered: "Just about middling, thank you, Miss."
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They resumed their walk. When they had reached the bridge they found old Mr Greyquill, leaning over the rail, and gazing with intentness, with a sort of lifting leer which could not be defined as a smile, though it was like the shadow of one, in the direction of Old Harbour. This person was not used to address either of the gentlemen on meeting them in the public streets. They were accustomed to nod in silence. But this morning [Pg 175]as the Admiral and the Captain passed him, the Admiral so close as to brush his coat-tail, the old scrivener turned with a rapid motion and exclaimed, still preserving his singular leer: "I beg pardon, gentlemen, but as I fail to see the Minorca amongst the ships, may I enquire if she has sailed?"
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Halin-Chen Response,
>"Go to sleep," said Billy drowsily.
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