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It was not the hour for ghosts, they must be real people. Billy encouraged himself with that thought and wished he could wait for further disclosures. Did the sun ever before go down so fast? He hastened to find his wheel and can, and set out at his best pace. She stood at the end of the creaking wharf, and one little bare arm was lifted high. She held a small fruit jar filled with water and beet juice. It was awkward, but Billy had insisted on the fruit jar,—“So’s it will be sure to break; it’s the only kind of a bottle that always will break.” “You’d think this here day’s trip to Calgary was a journey to Jeroosalem,” he complained, all his slips of paper used up in jottings to remind him of duties imposed..

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The clearer air revived Billy, and he was soon walking without help, coming shortly to the road where the wagons waited; coming in sight of Ellen’s Isle. Mrs. Bennett was setting the table. She put down a pile of plates, and a new anxiety came into her careworn face. “A child? I told Mr. Patton I couldn’t take one.” The boy scudded lightly across the narrow open space to the shelter of a manzanita tree, and looked back again; but no one appeared. Did he still hear the softly quarrelling voices? He fancied so. The sudden dip of the sun behind a hill darkened the scene threateningly, and brought a return of “the creeps.” “Let me go, please!” he pleaded. “There’s a little girl, our refugee, over there, fainted, I think, perhaps—dead.”.