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Above him bent a face with tender blue eyes and red, half-smiling lips beneath a crowning glory as golden as frost-pinched maple leaf. And she would be at school in the morning! It was while pondering on how he might contrive to wear his Sunday clothes on the morrow that Billy fell asleep to dream that he was old man Scroggie's ghost and that he was sitting in the centre of Lake Erie with the big hardwoods bush on his knees, waiting for her to come that he might present it all to her. "Down, Moll!" he whispered, as he cocked the old muzzle-loader. "They're headin' straight in. Them driller fellers are goin' to get a chance to make a clean-up on that bunch, sure!" "We knew that," cried Billy, eagerly; "that's why we come to you, Harry. You say you've found buried treasure in Ireland; won't you help us find the lost will an' money?".

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After a few minutes he came out. He approached the cabin table and stood close. His face wore a mingled look of astonishment and fear, and he was very pale. He was as grotesque as something fanciful in a fairy story, with his red hair, hump, long arms, rounded legs, and whilst he stood he scratched himself as a monkey does. His chin was enormous, and out of all proportion to his face. "Over to our place. I told her about Ma fallin' an' breakin' the meat-platter, an' I guess she misunderstood. She tried to take me along with her. I had an awful time to get 'way from her." She put her helm over, and sailing broadside to broadside with the Aurora, hailed her from the throat of a lieutenant who had hoisted his figure by standing on a carronade. It was during that prayer that Maurice, chancing to glance at the window, saw Billy Wilson's pet crow, Croaker, peering in at him with black eyes. Now, as Croaker often acted as carrier between the boys, his presence meant only one thing—Billy had sent him some message. Cautiously Maurice got down on all fours and crept toward the door..