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Billy sighed his relief. "Gee, but it's lucky you did," he cried. "That's the very thing Trigger Finger Tim would'a done, ain't it, Maurice?",

"'I hope they won't get among my quail,' I says, an' Scraff he turned round an' looked at me mighty hard, but he didn't say nuthin'. He went away, grumblin', an' carryin' six of Dad's traps. Course I knowed he couldn't catch a weasel in a trap in twenty years an' he didn't catch any either. Ma weasel killed some more of his Leghorns, an' then Scraff he comes to me. 'Billy,' he says, 'is there any way to get rid of weasels?' 'Sure there's a way,' I says, 'but not everybody knows it.',

Therefore after a few days of miserable[Pg 157] anxiety, during which he was remarkable for sobriety and for conspicuous regard to his personal apparel, Mr Lawrence allowed the subject of the letter to slip from his mind, satisfied that it had been reduced to pulp by the wet that had fallen on the morning he lost it, or that it had been blown by some sportive stroke of breeze into a corner, or a place where it was as much lost as if it had dropped from his pocket into the ocean.,

Maurice Keeler, wan, hollow-eyed, and miserable, was seated on a stool just outside the door in the early morning sunlight. Near him sat his mother, peeling potatoes, her portly form obscured by a trailing wistaria vine. What Maurice had endured during his two weeks with the measles nobody knew but himself. His days had been lonely, filled with remorse that he had ever been born to give people trouble and care; his nights longer even than the days. Hideous nightmares had robbed him of slumber. Old Scroggie's ghost had visited him almost nightly. The Twin Oaks robbers, ugly, hairy giants armed with red-hot pitch-forks, had bound him to a tree and applied fire to his feet. What use to struggle or cry aloud for help? Even Billy, his dearest chum, had sat and laughed with all the mouths of his eight heads at his pain. Of course he had awakened to learn these were but dreams; but to a boy dreams are closely akin to reality.

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They went on board the several vessels lying in the harbour, but the answer they received was that of the wharf: Miss Lucy Acton had not been seen, or at all events noticed.,

"All hunky. Now you move along, an' if you happen to meet Fatty Watland, er Maurice, er any other boys, don't you let on a word about this.",

"I have not met with the usage," old Greyquill went on calmly, steadily exasperating Miss Acton by a preface that was disgusting and needless whilst she thirsted for the one essential fact, "that I certainly think I deserve from either Admiral Sir William Lawrence, nor his son, Mr Lawrence." He spoke with so complete a neglect of the Admiral's presence that the old gentleman might have been out of the room. "They have no claim upon my kindness.",

"There, there," cried the big-hearted woman, "of course it did."