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The place which old Harry O'Dule called home was a crumbling log cabin on the shore of Levee Creek, just on the border of the Scroggie bush. Originally it had been built as a shelter for sheep, but with the clearing of the land it had fallen into disuse. O'Dule had found it on one of his pilgrimages and had promptly appropriated it unto himself. Nobody thought of disputing his possession, perhaps because most of the good people of Scotia inwardly feared the old man's uncanny powers of second sight, and the foreshadowing—on those who chose to cross him—of dire evils, some of which had been known to materialize. Old Harry boasted that he was the seventh son of a seventh son., Billy kicked his hat high in air and turned a handspring. "Tell me all about it, Harry. You saw 'em married, did you?", "There you are, Harry." Billy, having completed the magic circle, stood up and put the charm back in his pocket. "Not a chink in it," he assured the old man..