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his face level so that they could talk as men. He never towered from his height above Billy, but always lifted the little soul when important matters were to be discussed.
“Now what a dandy scheme,” he commented. “Did you and Aunt Margaret fix it up?”
“No. She ain't had hers yet. But I got one for her. Ist as soon as you eat yours, I am going to take hers, and feed her first time I find her in the dark.”
“But Billy, where did you get the cookies? You know Aunt Margaret said you were not to have any.”
“I ist took them,” said Billy, “I didn't take them for me. I ist took them for you and her.”
Wesley thought fast. In the warm darkness of the barn the horses crunched their corn, a rat gnawed at a corner of the granary, and among the rafters the white pigeon cooed a soft sleepy note to his dusky mate.
“Did—did—I steal?” wavered Billy.
Wesley's big hands closed until he almost hurt the boy.
“No!” he said vehemently. “That is too big a word. You made a mistake. You were trying to be a fine little man, but you went at it the wrong way. You only made a mistake. All of us do that, Billy. The world grows that way. When we make mistakes we can see them; that teaches us to be more careful the next time, and so we learn.”
“How wouldn't it be a mistake?”
“If you had told Aunt Margaret what you wanted to do, and asked her for the cookies she would have given them to you.”
“But I was 'fraid she wouldn't, and you ist had to have it.”
“Not if it was wrong for me to have it, Billy. I don't want it that much.”
“Must I take it back?”
“You think hard, and decide yourself.”
“Lift me down,” said Billy, after a silence, “I got to put this in the jar, and tell her.”
Wesley set the boy on the floor, but as he did so he paused one second and strained him close to his breast.
Margaret sat in her chair sewing; Billy slipped in and crept beside her. The little face was lined with tragedy.
“Why Billy, whatever is the matter?” she cried as she dropped her sewing and held out her arms. Billy stood back. He gripped his little fists tight and squared his shoulders. “I got to be shut up in the closet,” he said.
“Oh Billy! What an unlucky day! What have you done now?”
“I stold!” gulped Billy. “He said it was ist a mistake, but it was worser 'an that. I took something you told me I wasn't to have.”
“Stole!” Margaret was in despair. “What, Billy?”
“Cookies!” answered Billy in equal trouble.
“Billy!” wailed Margaret. “How could you?”
“It was for him and you,” sobbed Billy. “He said he couldn't eat it 'fore me, but out in the barn it's all dark and I couldn't see. I thought maybe he could there. Then we might put out the light and you could have yours. He said I only made it worse, cos I mustn't take things, so I got to go in the closet. Will you hold me tight a little bit first? He did.”
Margaret opened her arms and Billy rushed in and clung to her a few seconds, with all the force of his being, then he slipped to the floor and marched to the closet. Margaret opened the door. Billy gave one glance at the light, clinched his fists and, walking inside, climbed on a box. Margaret closed the door.
Then she sat and listened. Was the air pure enough? Possibly he might smother. She had read something once. Was it very dark? What if there should be a mouse in the closet and it should run across his foot and frighten him into spasms. Somewhere she had heard—Margaret leaned forward with tense face and listened. Something dreadful might happen. She could bear it no longer. She arose hurriedly and opened the door. Billy was drawn up on the box in a little heap, and he lifted a disapproving face to her.
“Shut that door!” he said. “I ain't been in here near long enough yet!”
CHAPTER X
WHEREIN ELNORA HAS MORE FINANCIAL TROUBLES, AND MRS. COMSTOCK AGAIN HEARS THE SONG OF THE LIMBERLOST
The following night Elnora hurried to Sintons'. She threw open the back door and with anxious eyes searched Margaret's face.
“You got it!” panted Elnora. “You got it! I can see by your face that you did. Oh, give it to me!”
“Yes, I got it, honey, I got it all right, but don't be so fast. It had been kept in such a damp place it needed glueing, it had to have strings, and a key was gone. I knew how much you wanted it, so I sent Wesley right to town with it. They said they could fix it good as new, but it should be varnished, and that it would take several days for the glue to set. You can have it Saturday.”
“You found it where you thought it was? You know it's his?”
“Yes, it was just where I thought, and it's the same violin I've seen him play hundreds of times. It's all right, only laying so long it needs fixing.”
“Oh Aunt Margaret! Can I ever wait?”
“It does seem a long time, but how could I help it? You couldn't do anything with it as it was. You see, it had been hidden away in a garret, and it needed cleaning and drying to make it fit to play again. You can have it Saturday sure. But Elnora, you've got to promise me that you will leave it here, or in town, and not let your mother get a hint of it. I don't know what she'd do.”
“Uncle Wesley can bring it here until Monday. Then I will take it to school so that I can practise at noon. Oh, I don't know how to thank you. And there's more than the violin for which to be thankful. You've given me my father. Last night I saw him plainly as life.”
“Elnora you were dreaming!”
“I know I was dreaming, but I saw him. I saw him so closely that a tiny white scar at the corner of his eyebrow showed. I was just reaching out to touch him when he disappeared.”
“Who told you there was a scar on his forehead?”
“No one ever did in all my life. I saw it last night as he went down. And oh, Aunt Margaret! I saw what she did, and I heard his cries! No matter what she does, I don't believe I ever can be angry with her again. Her heart is broken, and she can't help it. Oh, it was terrible, but I am glad I saw it. Now, I will always understand.”
“I don't know what to make of that,” said Margaret. “I don't believe in such stuff at all, but you couldn't make it up, for you didn't know.”
“I only know that I played the violin last night, as he played it, and while I played he came through the woods from the direction of Carneys'. It was summer and all the flowers were in bloom. He wore gray trousers and a blue shirt, his head was bare, and his face was beautiful. I could almost touch him when he sank.”
Margaret stood perplexed. “I don't know what to think of that!” she ejaculated. “I was next to the last person who saw him before he was drowned. It was late on a June afternoon, and he was dressed as you describe. He was bareheaded because he had found a quail's nest before the bird began to brood, and he gathered the eggs in his hat and left it in a fence corner to get on his way home; they found it afterward.”
“Was he coming from Carneys'?”
“He was on that side of the quagmire. Why he ever skirted it so close as to get caught is a mystery you will have to dream out. I never could understand it.”
“Was he doing something he didn't want my mother to know?”
“Why?”
“Because