No more would the fire-flies weave a gauze of golden stars above the marshlands at the foot of the Causeway. The season of green and blue had lived and died and in its place had been born a season of drab and brown. Summer was gone. The song-birds had migrated. Soon the green rush fields would sway, grey and dead and the bronze woodcocks would whistle away from the bog-lands, for seldom did they tarry after the first frost. Along the creek the red-winged black-birds would be sounding their up-and-away notes. No happy carol to welcome the first glow of dawn! No wonder Billy sighed. Then he lifted his head quickly as, high above him, sounded the whistle of wings. Up from the north a wedgeshaped flock of wild ducks came speeding, white backs flashing as they pitched downward in unbroken formation towards the calling bay-waters.,
Wilson whistled. "What in the world does he want with that swamp, I wonder?" he cried.,
Lost Man's Swamp, so called because it was said that one straying into its depths never was able to extricate himself from its overpowering mists and treacherous quicksands, was lonely and forsaken. It lay like a festering sore on the breast of the world—black, menacing, hungry to gulp, dumb as to those mysteries and tragedies it had witnessed. It was whispered that the devil made his home in its pitchy ponds, which even in the fiercest cold of winter did not freeze.,
"Is that why people don't go near your place, 'cause they're scared of the dogs?" Billy asked.
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"We'll see," said Billy and without another word turned to the dim pathway among the trees.,
"Bill," Anson's voice was husky with terror. "You won't let him touch me, will you, Bill?",
"A gap? Hully Gee!",
"Would not you like to take a trip to the West Indies in your father's ship, Miss?" said the Reverend James Prettyman, who had[Pg 160] been headmaster at a fashionable school for young gentlemen for many years past in a city about twenty miles distant from Old Harbour Town.
She bent and kissed him. "Best Daddy ever was," she whispered. Then jumping up she ran to the stove and put the kettle on.
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But Lucy Acton smiled and curtsied when he passed as usual. Old Miss Acton was nervously polite in her way in her little chirrupy salutations. Captain Acton was sometimes down at the ship, but had nothing to say about the finding of a letter good or bad.
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Billy made no reply.
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"Do you expect to kill any ducks with that old iron?" he sneered, looking hard at Billy.
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>Billy turned quickly. "No more of that," he said. "This is my funeral—and the teacher's. Everybody else keep out of it."
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