888i🎎ASIA'S NO. 1 BAKER CHANNEL

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., "First off when he sees us, he asks us if we'd happened to find any tracks of his horse. It was funny to see his snakey eyes callin' us liars at every polite word we said to him. Finally he comes right out flat-footed an' tells us that he knows we had somethin' to do with ol' Thomas wanderin' off, an' he says he's goin' to make our fathers pay fer his loss.", "Understand, brothers," the deacon admonished as they parted, "we must be careful not to let them poor, ignorant people think we're doin' this little act of Christianity because they've seen fit to fulfill their promise to us regardin' fish. That would spoil the spirit of our givin'. Let not one man among us so much as mention fish. Brotherly kindness, Christian example. That's our motto, brothers, and we'll foller it.".