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Yield to peace the mourning day! A moment later Mr. Whitney was beside him, an expression on his face which the boy could not fathom. It was a stern look yet there was a twinkle in the kind eyes. His first words were ominous. “It is horrid, but”—great searching first in one pocket of his trousers, then in the other—“but if you will please take this report back”—.

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Johnny Blossom grew more and more excited. He stood on the tip end of the plank that extended out over the water. From where they were sitting, screened by the undergrowth, they could see a section of a rough path that led up the hillside. For a long time nothing happened. As the Indian did not speak, Bob felt it best to remain quiet also. Probably there was a reason for it. The delay did not worry him much, however, as there was plenty of material for his mind to be busy with. Ever since he had talked with Mr. Whitney, events had tumbled upon him one after another. Mr. Whitney had gone and Ted was doing outpost duty. Jerry was on the other side. Only the Indian was left to him and he was not much of a counselor. True, he was beginning to prove himself a great help but through the limitations of language he could not be used to discuss what ought to be done regarding the things they found out. What the outcome of the mess was to be was beyond Bob’s imagination to foresee. He was determined to do what he felt was his duty, and if the consequences were serious it could not be helped. Long tables stood in rows in one part of the park, as had been planned. Father presided here, while Mother attended to John’s special guests in the beautiful dining room. Milla the fishwoman and Olava and the others sat stiff and proper on the edge of the damask-covered chairs, saying not a word. Tellef’s grandmother, however, talked fast enough. She was so happy, now that she could see. The Wolf, I say here, for you'll find.