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October's second morning dawned sullen and grey, with a chill wind banking slate-hued clouds in the sky. Deacon Ringold, taking the short cut across the stubble-fields to Wilson's, shivered as he glanced back at the black lines his feet had cut through the crisp white frost, and decided to put on his woolen underclothes right away. The deacon had important and disturbing news to convey to his neighbor and had started out early to seek his counsel. "Say, you give me a pain," cried Billy. "Don't you 'spose we've got all we kin do ahead of us now?" "You bet it is," cried Billy..
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"So we give him the money but we made him give us what Jim calls a regular bill o' sale receipt fer it. An' so, you see, Ma, we've got Mr. Johnston there, an' he won't ever lay the rod on poor ol' Thomas no more." A grin rippled across his face and grew into a chuckle. "I bet I sleep in the barn fer a week. I sure hate the smell of sulphur." At noon Mr Eagle, who had been in charge of the watch since eight o'clock, was relieved by Mr Pledge, and went below. On entering the cabin on his way to his berth, he started and stopped dead on beholding Miss Lucy Acton standing at the table and looking up through the skylight. She had gathered up her hair, but in such wise that had it not been for the jockey-shaped hat which she had[Pg 330] resumed she would have looked as wild as though her tresses hung about her shoulders and down her back as in her berth. "Oh, my dear, dear Lucy," he cried, "little can you conceive how the man who carried[Pg 362] you off has made your aunt and me, and his father, suffer!".
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