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"Oh isn't that splendid," cried the girl. "He's such a dear old fellow when he's sober. Do you suppose he'll be strong enough to give up drink altogether, Billy?",

The crow lifted the other foot and with much fluttering and complaining managed to get all the way around.,

At last, sick and dizzy, he turned from the place and with raft and pole fought his way back to the shore. Never again, he told himself, would he try to fathom further what lay in Lost Man's Swamp. Weary and perspiring, he climbed the wooded upland. He turned and dipped into the willows, intending to take the shortest way home through the hardwoods. On top of the beech knoll he paused for a moment to let his eyes rest on the big house in the walnut grove. In some vague way his mind connected its owner with that dead waste of stinking marsh. Why, he wondered, had Hinter chosen this lonely spot on which to build his home? As he turned to strike across the neck of woods between him and the causeway the man about whom he had just been thinking stepped out from a clump of hazel-nut bushes directly in his path.,

Anson frowned and scratched his head. "Did you tell her 'bout my lettin' the pigs get in the garden when I was tendin' gap this afternoon?" he asked suspiciously.

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"Sit I there, wid God's sunlight caressin' me bare head and his burruds trillin' their joy at me good luck—and dhrink I did. It's a mercy ut was but a small bottle, else I might have taken it back to me cabin to be finished at leisure. Instead, whin ut was all dhrunk up, I found widin me the courage to proceed further into the ha'nted grove. So I goes, an' afore I knew ut, right up to the ha'nted house I was, and inside ut.",

"Boys," cried Billy in awed tones. "It's gone!",

"Yes, a corn-cob pipe," he repeated weakly.,

He endeavoured to recollect himself that, by calming his terrors his memory might better serve him. Urgent alarms often induce vain hopes which we should laugh at in the cool mood. He believed he might have put that letter down in his bedroom, and perfectly well knowing that he had not done so, and yet coaxed by a will-o'-the-wisp hope, he ransacked the room as though he knew that in it was to be found a gold piece of value whose discovery demanded a careful search only. What was certain in his mind was that that letter was in his pocket when he walked that morning to visit the Minorca. He remembered withdrawing it from his pocket, but in what part of the walk he knew not, and re-perusing a portion of it to refresh his memory. He tried to find comfort in the recollection that the letter bore no address and no signature. But a thundercloud of horror came down on this feeble streak of sunshine when he recalled the damning, incriminating contents of that sheet[Pg 152] which he had scrawled in pencil at "The Swan Inn." Whoever found it would know that Mr Lawrence, and Mr Lawrence alone, had written it, and this, too, irrespective of the handwriting.