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Maurice stood up. "Well, as there's no need to keep watch here, maybe I best trail along home. Anse'll be gettin' tired waitin' fer me.",

Lucy heard a church bell strike: she started from a fit of abstraction, and, turning to move on, confronted an old man who was crossing the bridge. The face of this old man was pale and wrinkled; his hair was long and quite white. His nose streamed down his face in a thin, curling outline; his mouth when his lips were compressed might be expressed by a simple stroke of a pencil.[Pg 30] His eyes were deep-seated and extraordinarily luminous and swift in their motions, and his eyebrows, which were as white as his hair, were so thick and overhanging that they might have passed for a couple of white mice sleeping on his brow. His apparel had that dim and faded look which in fiction is associated with miserliness. His high and dingy white cravat and the tall build of his coat at the back of his head, so sloped his shoulders that they looked to make a line with his arms. He wore a faded red waistcoat which sank very low, and under it dangled a bunch of seals. His knee-breeches left painfully visible the pipe-stem shanks clothed in grey hose and terminating in large shoes, burdened with steel buckles.,

Several times during the next half hour Billy, allowing his gaze to wander across the church, caught those blue eyes fastened upon him and his heart began to flutter strangely. An ungovernable desire to misbehave himself took possession of him. Never in his life had his head felt so light—unless it was the night when he and Maurice had inadvertently mistaken hard cider for sweet and had nearly disgraced themselves. He was not even aware of who was beside him on his seat, until a pair of stubby fingers pinched his leg and he came down to earth to look into Jim Scroggie's grinning face.,

This ordinary was held every day, for there were always people passing through Old Harbour Town, and then Old Harbour Town itself was liberal with its own supply of guests, pilots, smack-owners and others who found it cheaper and much more convenient to get a cut at "The Swan," than to sit down to an ill-killed and ill-cooked joint, or a fried chop or steak in their own homes. The ordinary was frequently graced by the presence of distinguished people. A lord would occasionally take a chair; several neighbouring squires were regular frequenters when business brought them into those parts. Captain Acton had often made a meal at that table, and so had Sir William.

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In the case of the sheet Mr Greyquill held, it had been folded to resemble a letter, but it had not been made one; it bore no address, and the communication started at once without the prefatorial "Dear sir," or the like, and it closed without signature or initials. But Mr Greyquill immediately saw that the handwriting in pencil was Mr Lawrence's, and that the document must have fallen from that gentleman's pocket just now when they parted.,

Croaker watched him reach for a chink in the logs and raise himself toward the treasure house. Then he became silent and sat huddled up, wings drooping discontentedly, his whole aspect one of utter despair.,

"I see," said Scroggie. Of course he didn't, but he wanted to make Billy feel that he did.,

Maurice's white face slowly expanded in a grin. He glanced in the direction of his mother, then held out his hand to the crow with a lowspoken, "Come Croaker, ol' feller."