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WELL, what do you want to play?” Billy asked, after the hubbub had a little subsided. “You young Hottentots, wot youse been up to?” All too soon Moses’ prophecy proved true. With a boy’s cunning and swiftness Billy made a running creep through the underbrush up the steep mountain side. From a peephole higher up he stopped, breathless, and watched them beat the chaparral round about where he had stood; saw them go down into the road, look each way, turn and scan the mountain; and at last slink off, one to the house, the other to the vineyard..

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Behind the two women trotted a chubby baby. “I see Billy boat,” he cried, shrilly, stumbled, fell, scrambled up again, and repeated his refrain. Billy slipped quickly to cover again where he could watch unseen. The men’s faces were black with passion, and their low, intense words seemed all the more deadly because strange, foreign. A coat split down the back with a ripping report, and the boy saw the flash of a knife, and turned away feeling sick. As many of the hens and chickens as could be persuaded were ushered into the yard to add to the numerical strength of the menagerie. The travellers passed on; he righted his wheel and began his slow, painful way home. It was still cloudy and the welcome darkness setting in early, shrouded him as he slipped down the least public streets and alleys to his own side gate. He put his wheel away, fed his chickens,—though they had gone to roost,—went to the cellar and brought meat and milk for dog and cats, and reconnoitred the way to the Fo’castle..