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"And for a very good reason, by George," cried Maddoc. "How could it be found when it lay safely locked in a deposit box in my vault?" "Look here, Bill," cried Maurice. "You don't want'a hurt Teacher Stanhope's feelin's, do you!" "Well sir, you jest rest easy an' I'll get your horse myself.".

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"That's old Harry and his tin whistle," muttered Caleb, "Glory be! but can't he jest make that thing sing?" The sehoolhouse stood with a wide sloping green before it and a tangle of second growth forest behind it. It was not an old building, but had the appearance of senile old age. Its coat of cheap terra-cotta paint had cracked into many wrinkles; its windows looked dully out like the lustreless eyes of an old, old man. The ante-room roof had been blown off by a winter's gale and replaced inaccurately, so that it set awry, jaunty and defiant, challenging the world. Its door hung on one hinge, leaning sleepily against a knife-scarred wall. A rail fence ran about the yard which was filled to choking with a rank growth of smart-weed. In one corner of the yard was a well with a faded blue pump holding the faded red arm of a handle toward the skies, as though evoking high heaven to bear witness that it was never intended to lead such a lonely and useless existence. With wildly beating heart Billy passed through the pines, the twilight gloom adding to his feeling of awe. Croaker had become strangely silent and now flitted before him like a black spirit of a crow. It was almost a relief when at last the tumble-down shack grew up in its tangle of vines and weeds. Once more into the daylight and Croaker took up the interrupted thread of his conversation with himself. He ducked and side-stepped and gave voice to expressions which Billy had never heard him use before. "You'll admit, sir, that my failure to obtain employment has not been due to neglect in searching for it.".