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"Nary a word but I asked him what he intended to do with the Scroggie hardwoods. He told me that he had sold it to a lumber company. He says there'll be a big camp of cutters and sawyers down here this winter. I said I supposed he'd be goin' back to the States jest as soon as he got things cleared up here, an' you ought to see the queer look he gave me.,

"I don't mind doin' it," Anse repeated. He kept his face averted. Billy, scenting mystery, walked over to him and swung him about. Anson's lip was swollen and one eye was partly closed and his freckled face bore the marks of recent conflict.,

"You might tell him that he's an angel if you wanter lie to him," returned Shipley, "or that he's a canny old skin-flint, if you wanter tell him the truth. I reckon, though, sonny, you best tell him that we'll be along 'tween ten and leven.,

Mr Lawrence was in the act of passing from the cabin steps to his berth when Paul, who had received the key from him, came out[Pg 303] of the interior tenanted by Lucy. He looked pale in the lantern light, ugly, and grotesque, and his face wore an expression as though he had been terrified.

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Meanwhile, Lucy crossing the bridge pursued the road to Old Harbour Town. She walked up an incline as gradual and pleasant as the lane which had brought her to the river. The hedges on either side stood thick, and the road was sentinelled by trees which when robed in their foliage transformed a long space of it into a beautiful avenue. The way took her straight to Lower Street, at the corner of which stood "The Swan" Tavern, a posting-house with a signboard that swang rustily through the long dark night, but behind its little lower windows a glimpse of old-world comfort could be caught: a sanded floor, a dark-polished table ringed with impressions of immemorial mugs of ale set down upon it, a little grate high perched in a setting of china, an old Dutch clock, and a black-board for the score.,

"Yes, Nelson is the great sea-poem of the age," said Captain Acton, "and I find more melody in the thunder of his guns than in the prettiest turns of the poetic measure. Are you going home, sister?",

Suddenly those eyes opened wide. Was he dreaming again or did he hear the low croak of a crow? He twisted his head. There at his feet sat Croaker. The crow's beady eyes were fastened on him. Suspended from its neck was a cord and attached to the cord was a piece of yellow wrapping paper.,

"Did you say more tea, teacher?" Mrs. Keeler was at his elbow, steaming tea-pot in hand.