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CHAPTER VI “THE TRIUMPH OF FLORA” As that energetic lady bustled about the kitchen the same evening setting the bread, her voice rose in a series of trills and other embellishments as she sang “Where is my wanderin’ boy to-night?” Jean hid a queer little smile that she could not repress..

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“Are your going to church?” she asked, disappointment drawing her lips to a tremulous curve. It took a very short time to gather the posse, instruct it, and set out for the mountain. The Sheriff gave Billy an old hat and bade him to a seat behind the swift horses; and Billy obeyed, feeling a strange elation as they set out. It was just like a story. Could it be he, plain Billy Bennett, that was assisting the State to find long-sought-for criminals? The horses flew, yet Billy thought they would never arrive at the turn in the road where they would leave them. He felt as if in some unknown way the man at the hut would surely know of their coming, would hide, destroy, perhaps carry off all that would convict him, and the other, the big man,— Oh, would they never be there? The child reared without pets was delighted with the animal life about her; the cats, old Bouncer, the white chickens, and pigeons cooing in the loft. Mr. Patton, who “placed” the refugees, was glad of Billy’s request, for the child’s struggle for self-control had touched him; and he knew no one would be a kinder mother to her than Mrs. Bennett..