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"Is that why people don't go near your place, 'cause they're scared of the dogs?" Billy asked. "I'd awful like to have Harry O'Dule, too." "Yes, sir, and then I saw her and reported her to you.".
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This High Street was pleasantly furnished with shops: the butcher's, the owner of which shouted in talk to his customers as he dexterously chopped on his block; the baker's,[Pg 37] with its little bow-window choice with buns and cakes, and pretty shapes of bread; here too was the post-office, which was like a pedlar's tray for variety of contents. "Had my supper," shouted Billy. He threw the kindling into the wood box and grinned encouragement at Maurice, who had sunk miserably down on a stool. "And did you hear anythin' of what passed between 'em, Billy?" Five minutes later he was riding the two-mile strip of sand between the light-house and the pines, the Great Danes close behind. When he reached the timber he reined in to look back over his shoulder at the tall white tower with its ever-sweeping, glowing eye. Then, with a sigh, he rode forward and passed into the darkness of the trees. Half way down the trail he dismounted and, after hitching his horse to a tree and commanding his dogs to stand guard, plunged into the thickly-growing pines on the right of the path..
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