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Mrs. Bliggins’ narrative came to an end. Though its application to the misfortune which dominated the minds of the little gathering in Mrs. Mifsud’s kitchen was somewhat obscure, it served to cause a momentary interest. Experiences so unusual and so complicated as those of Mr. Augustus Snoop were bound to be diverting. “Yet he has more mind than Flash.” Billy looked up at the Italian, saw him take a pistol from his pocket, discharge it in the air, replace it, and go calmly on with his work. What could that be for? A warning? Yes; for he realized suddenly that every sound in the house had ceased. The wagon passed from sight. He could hear the voices of the men as they drove by, see the driver pointing to the house with his whip; and one of the women on the rear seat looked back as long as the house could be seen. Then the soft mysterious sounds began again..

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They came upon him a second later, insensible, his head bleeding from a scalp wound. Hurriedly the Sheriff lifted him close to the brook, dashed water over his face, washed out the cut a little, and bound it with his handkerchief, not untenderly if in haste; for Billy had won something more than his approval. “Sister, she’ll be hunkey for the fairy queen in your Spring Festival, won’t she? She’s a regular progidy, isn’t she?” Billy’s eyes shone. “I’m sorry to make you late with your mowing, Billy, but I must have you go out to Mrs. Prettyman’s for some cream she promised me.” St. Elmo’s face brightened with intelligence. He broke into the story to give a graphic account of how a little yellow chicken of his sister’s had got “dwownded” in the pig-trough..