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Just here a step sounded on the gravel outside and a knock fell on the door. Maurice opened the door and in stepped Anson. 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. Harry nodded sympathetically. "Faith, measles are a blissin' in disguise, as are many other afflictions," he said. "Would ye relish a swate smell and the colors av God's big out av doors so much, think ye, if kept prisoner from thim ye never were? I'm thinkin' not..

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Stunned into inaction by the ease and suddenness with which Billy had turned the tables against him Anson had only time to take one longing glance toward the door. His mother had lifted the razor-strop from its nail and as he made a frenzied leap toward safety her strong hand gripped him by the wet hair. "Swish" fell the strop and Anson's wail of woe rent the Sabbath air. In vain he squirmed, cried, protested his innocence. He turned back toward the house, then paused as the mellow "whirt-o-whirt" of a quail sounded from the sumach which bordered the meadow across the road. "Old Cock quail," he cautioned softly, "I wouldn't give that covey-call too often if I was you. Joe Scraff jest might hear you. Only note safe fer you to whistle is 'Bob White'—but you won't be whistlin' that till spring comes ag'in." "Billy!" he cried, "why didn't you shoot?" "Has she eaten anything, can you tell me?".