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"What?" The deacon gripped the boy's arm and shook him. "What's that you say?" he questioned eagerly. "I guess I didn't think about it," said the boy. "There's a boat out yonder, an' she's havin' trouble. I was watchin' her." "Five, bluebill. Comin' right to us.".

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"Now then, girlie, it's comin' on to flight-time, so well jest set out decoys right here." Billy picked up the wooden ducks and placed them as naturally as he knew how some twenty yards out from shore. As he drew the punt well up among the tall rushes he saw the first line of ducks drift in from the bay. Not until he had put some distance between himself and hia friends did he remember that he had not told them the great and wonderful news that had been imparted to him by old Harry. Well, never mind, they would hear it soon. Harry would see to that. He turned into a path that strayed far up among clumps of red-gold maples and ochre-stained oaks. The whistle of quail sounded from a ridge of brown sumachs. Up the hill, across the deep valley, where wintergreen berries gleamed like drops of blood among the mosses, he passed slowly and on to the beech-crowned ridge. "It don't seem right to wake boys up just to give 'em a whalin', Mary," he protested. "My Ma used to wake me up sometimes, but never to whale me. I'd rather remember—" Five minutes later the trio were out on the forest path, passing in Indian file towards the haunted grove. The wind had risen and now swept through the great trees with ghostly sound. A black cloud, creeping up out of the west, was wiping out the stars. Throughout the forest the notes of the night-prowlers were strangely hushed. No word was spoken between the treasure-seekers until the elm-bridged creek was reached. Then old Harry paused, with labored breath, his head bent as though listening..