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He completed his chores and went thoughtfully back up the flower-edged path to the house. "There's one good thing about Mary's crossness," he reflected, "it don't last long. She'll be her old cheerful self ag'in by now." "Sure I will," agreed Croaker. He hopped down and started pigeon-toeing across the glade, peering back to see if Billy were coming. Just as the boys and girls were settling down in their seats and Jim Scroggie was glancing anxiously doorward Billy strode in. He was resplendent in his Sunday best and wore a wild thorn blossom in his button hole. He glanced quickly about the room and caught the glint and sunlight for which he hungered—a smile from the lips of Lou Scroggie. Then he seized Jack LaRose by the scruff of the neck, jerked him from the seat near the door and motioned Jim Scroggie over. "We'll set here," he whispered. "It's close to the outside in case we have to make a quick get-away.".
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Ringold nodded approval. "All right, Neighbor Watland. Anybody else got anythin' to say?" "Well said, Miss, well said!" cried Miss Proudfoot, who was a very good hand at whist and very quarrelsome over the game. Caleb's face grew stern. "I told you, Harry O'Dule, that I'd give you no more liquor," he replied. "That Croaker's a witch? Of course he's a witch, an' so's Ringdo. They both know exactly what you're thinkin', an' what you're doin'. Listen, you," as Anse shivered. "Didn't you dream, jest t'other night, that Croaker was bendin' over you to peck your eyes out?".
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