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Down through the night-enshrouded woods the boys made their way noiselessly, Billy leading, Walter Watland, nicknamed Fatty on account of his size, close behind him and Maurice Keeler, Billy's sworn chum and confidant, bringing up the rear. Occasionally a soft-winged owl fluttered up from its kill, with a muffled "who-who." Once a heavy object plunged from the trail with a snort, and the boys felt the flesh along their spines creeping. They kept on without so much as a word, crossing a swift creek on a fallen tree, holding to its bank and making a detour into the woods to avoid passing close to a dilapidated log cabin which in the moonlight bore evidence of having fallen into disuse. As they skirted the heavy thicket of pines, which even in the summer night's stillness sighed low and mournfully, the leader halted suddenly and a low exclamation fell from his lips. Sir William again asked Captain Acton if he had heard the news. Presently Billy Wilson emerged from the cottage, received his basket from Caleb, and trotted off toward the Keeler place..
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The girl's eyes grew wider and wider with wonderment. "Isn't it strange?" she half whispered, "and beautiful?" She smiled and kissed him, and then said: "But oh, sir, his poor old father! You have regained me, your only child, but Sir William, an old, a good man, an upright, a beautiful character, must lose his son, an only child too." Maurice grimaced as he licked the bit of pulp from the knife blade. "'Course we both know this danged thing is pisin," he said, uncertainly. "Maybe we're fools, Bill?" "American, your honour.".
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