"I have no doubt. I have heard sterling reports of him; if he erred in his task it was because he was too lenient. Tell me, Mr. Keeler, is there not some history attached to him concerning a will, or property left by a man by the name of Scroggie? I'll admit I have no motive in so questioning save that of curiosity, but one wishes to know all one can learn about the man one is to follow. Is that not so, ma'am?" he asked, turning to the watchful hostess.,
"All right; that's settled. But listen, now, every one of you. He's gotta go of his own accord. We're not goin' to be disobedient in any way. Fer a time we'll eat out'a his hand. Now wait—" as a groan of protest went up—"let me finish afore you get the high-jumps, you fellers. At the end of two er three weeks somethin' is goin' to happen to Mr. Johnston. I'm not goin' to say what that somethin' is right now, but you'll all know soon enough. And if after it happens he's got nerve enough to come back here I miss my guess, that's all.",
"That you are, Jim," agreed the deacon heartily. "We'll tell 'em that Jim Glover'll be down to give 'em a hand soon.",
Billy threw back his head and laughed, the first hearty laugh he had known for days. Scroggie, in spite of the pain his swollen lips caused him, laughed too.
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He was out of bed and pulling his braces over his shoulders by the time the heavy footsteps of his mother sounded at the top of the stairs.,
Anson got out of bed, his white legs gleaming in the yellow lamp-light as he tiptoed softly across to Billy's cot and lay down.,
Then, as the first note of a night-bird came soft and fluted from a distant willow copse, Billy took his hand and drew him up along the corduroy road stretching through the shadows.,
"Naw, Maurice. A symbol is a mark what means somethin'. Have you got that message I sent you? Well, give it here an' I'll show you. Now then, you see them two marks standin' up 'longside each other?"
"But I ain't, Bill. Cross my heart, I ain't," protested Anson. "Why should I be?"
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The deacon had pulled up at the Wilson's gate. "He's shoutin' fer Pa," Billy whispered, as a resounding "Hello, Tom!" awoke the forest echoes. "Come on Maurice, let's work our way down along this strip o' bushes, so's we kin hear what's goin' on."
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It’s a Quan-Yuan
CHAPTER XIX CROAKER BRINGS A GIFT
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"And this is the way that a look-out is to be kept aboard this ship," said Mr Lawrence with a biting insolence of scorn, and that sort of pity which enrages more than kicks or execrations. "If you don't hold to the instructions you receive from me, sir, you'll[Pg 295] soon find yourself eating black bread in a French dungeon with straw from a sty for a bed."
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>"Oh gollies!" gasped Anson. "What's he huntin' copperheads fer, Bill?"
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