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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.,

"Oh no, oh no!" interposed Miss Acton; "she would not be our Lucy if she did.",

"I see it," Maurice replied in guarded tones. "Bill, that light's comin' this way, sure as shootin'.",

"Well, I do—an' I don't. He's my half-brother an' a sneak if ever there was one. He lied about you to me—so's I'd fight you."

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"You did," Maurice affirmed. "An' you grabbed Fatty by the arm an' pulled his shirt sleeve out. I saw you. And you can't say you didn't run neither, else how did you get here same time as Fatty an' me?",

Arriving they found Hinter there, so did not remain long. It was while Erie Landon was preparing a lunch for them that Billy got an opportunity to whisper something in her ear. The girl's cheeks flushed and her blue eyes grew deep with feeling.,

Of this man, a toothless salt whose face was like an old potato, dark with the weather of[Pg 34] vanished days and covered with warts, an affecting story was told: it was evening, and the room was full of seafaring men, and this man, whose name was John Halliburton, sat at the table with a long clay pipe trembling in one hand and a glass of hot rum and water in reach of the other. Several songs had been sung by members of the company, and some one, by way of a joke, asked old John to oblige. To the amazement of everybody the old man put down his pipe, took off his hat, out of which he drew a large red handkerchief with which he polished his face, and then, fixing his lustreless eyes upon the man who had asked him to sing, broke into a song in a strange, quivering, fitful note, as though you should hear a drunken sailor singing in a vault. The assembly was hushed into deep stillness. It was certainly a most unparalleled circumstance for old John to sing. In the middle of the second verse, some old nautical ballad popular fifty years before, he stopped, put his handkerchief into his hat, and his hat upon his head, and resumed his pipe, gazing vacantly at the man who had asked him to sing.,

The boys glanced at each other. "You tell him," whispered Billy, but Maurice shook his head. "No, you," he whispered back.