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The boys wriggled their way through the thicket of sumach, and reached a clump of golden-rod inside the road fence just as Wilson came out of the lane. "Well you do more than most people, then," said Billy. "The folks 'round here think I'm crazy, I guess, an' Joe Scraff—he's got an English setter dog an' shoots a lot; he told me that if he happened onto my quail an' partridge he'd bag as many of 'em as he could. I told him that if he shot my birds, he'd better watch out fer his white Leghorn chickens but he laughed at me." "Not very. Gee! Bill, it's good to see you ag'in.".

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Not until he had put some distance between himself and hia friends did he remember that he had not told them the great and wonderful news that had been imparted to him by old Harry. Well, never mind, they would hear it soon. Harry would see to that. He turned into a path that strayed far up among clumps of red-gold maples and ochre-stained oaks. The whistle of quail sounded from a ridge of brown sumachs. Up the hill, across the deep valley, where wintergreen berries gleamed like drops of blood among the mosses, he passed slowly and on to the beech-crowned ridge. He raised his face at sound of the boy's step. "Ho, Billy!" he called cheerfully. "Is it you?" "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!" "What proof have they given you that they were mad?".