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It was April, and some birds were in song; the sun shone brightly, and the breeze blowing from the sea sang pleasantly amongst the trees whose boughs were studded with little buds. The lane conducted Lucy to the valley where the river was, and here she stepped upon an old bridge. When half-way across she stopped to look in the direction of Old Harbour. The river flowed prettily under this bridge and melted its brilliance in the waters of the Harbour, where, when the tide was at lowest[Pg 26] ebb, it always had a bed for its discharge into the brine beyond.,

"I believe he's done for himself," said Mr Pledge, addressing nobody in particular; "I fancied I heer'd a shot fired in the cabin.",

Without so much as another word the boys went up the path.,

"No, we'll have to find out. Say, Bill, where 'bouts is the path?"

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Next day was Sunday and Billy did not like Sundays. They meant the scrubbing of his face, ears and neck with "Old Brown Windsor" soap until it fairly cracked if he so much as smiled, and being lugged off with his parents and Anse to early forenoon Sunday School in the little frame church in the Valley. There was nothing interesting about Sunday School; it was the same old hum-drum over and over again—same lessons, same teachers, same hymns, same tunes; with Deacon Ringold's assertive voice cutting in above all the other voices both in lessons and singing and with Mrs. Scraff's shrill treble reciting, for her class's edification, her pet verse: "Am I nothing to thee, all ye who pass by?"—only Mrs. Scraff always improvised more or less on the scriptures, and usually threw the verse defiantly from her in this form: "You ain't nuthin to me, all you who pass me by.",

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.,

In the interval of waiting for the air to clear the new teacher's face had turned a ghastly white. His black eyes blazed; his thin lips were drawn back from his strong, irregular teeth. Gazing upon him, the boys and girls quaked in apprehension. Their fears were well founded. Never before in all his long career in administering knowledge to grubby and inferior minds had Mr. G. G. Johnston been subject to such deadly insult as had been offered him here. It was fully a minute before he could command his voice sufficiently to speak and when he did the words trickled through his stiff lips thinly.,

The August days were passing swiftly, each fragrant dawn marking another step towards that inevitable something which must be faced—the reopening of the Valley School by a new teacher. Billy's heart saddened as the fields ripened and the woods turned red and gold. For once his world was out of tune. Maurice Keeler was sick with measles and Elgin Scraff lay ill with the same disease. Taking advantage of this fact, the Sand-sharkers had grown bold, some of the more venturesome of them going even so far as to challenge Billy to "knock the chip off their shoulders."