but because it kept her in a
better temper. Her temper was like kindling wood, and I hate being
bothered, unless, of course, it is something serious.

You mustn't think we were so very brave going off like that to find out
about Harry Foster. Only, you see, we had always lived in the country,
and didn't think that any one could run faster than we could. In town
I was scared out of my life lest I should slip in front of a tramcar,
and even Elsie went pale the first time she went on one of the ferry
steamers. But in the country we were all right.

Well, nothing happened till we got to the edge of Sparhawk Wood, where
we came to the road again, the road along which poor Harry had come
with his load of letters and parcels very early that morning, and
where, no doubt, the village people were even then searching for his
body. I do not deny that when we felt our feet on its smooth, white
dust we went a bit slower, Elsie and I. So would you. We didn't
really mind, of course, but just we went slower. And we saw to it that
the back track was clear. Elsie picked up her skirts. She was a good
runner--better than I was. She said, after, she would have waited for
me, but--well, no matter.

We saw the long road like a gray ribbon laid across the brown and
yellow moor. There was nobody there--no black heap, nothing. Before
us we could not see far. The highway took a turn and plunged into
Sparhawk Wood very suddenlike, and got dark and gloomy. We stood on
the stile a while in the sunshine--I don't know why, and presently we
got an awful start. For Elsie declared, and stuck to it, that she saw
something move among some bracken down by the burnside.

I got ready to run. Perhaps I had even started, when Elsie called me
back.

"It is only Davie Elshiner, the night poacher," she cried. "I can see
the patch on the left knee of his trousers. Nance Edgar sewed it on.
I saw her."

And as neither of us were in the least afraid of Davie Elshiner, alive,
dead, asleep, awake, drunk, sober, or in any intermediate state, we
hailed him. But he did not answer our shouts. So we went to look.
And as we went I said to Elsie, "What if he has been a witness to the
deed and they have killed him, too!"

"Come on," she said, grabbing me, "let's see, any way--we can't stop
now!"

"_But suppose they should kill us!_" I could hardly get the words out.
I was not frightened, only I seemed to lose my voice. Funny, wasn't
it? Elsie