ed his fingers, burying the
nails in the palms, the red hair on his wrists bristling like spiders'
legs. Dempsey sat at the table watching him calmly out of the corner of
his eye.

After a pause Quigg leaned over, his lips close to Dempsey's ear. Then
he drew a plan on the back of an old wine-list. It marked the position
of the door in Tom's stable, and that of a path which ran across lots
and was concealed from her house by a low fence. Dempsey studied it
a moment, nodding at Quigg's whispered explanations, and passed it to
McGaw, repeating Quigg's words. McGaw stopped and bent his head. A
dull gleam flashed out of his smouldering eyes. The lines of his face
hardened and his jaw tightened. For some minutes he stood irresolute,
gazing vacantly over the budding trees through the window. Then he
turned sharply, swallowed a brimming glass of raw whiskey, and left the
room.

When the sound of his footsteps had died away, Dempsey looked at Quigg
meaningly and gave a low laugh.

XIV. BLOSSOM-WEEK

It was "blossom-week," and every garden and hedge flaunted its bloom in
the soft air. All about was the perfume of flowers, the odor of fresh
grass, and that peculiar earthy smell of new-made garden beds but lately
sprinkled. Behind the hill overlooking the harbor the sun was just
sinking into the sea. Some sentinel cedars guarding its crest stood
out in clear relief against the golden light. About their tops, in wide
circles, swooped a flock of crows.

Gran'pop and Tom sat on the front porch, their chairs touching, his hand
on hers. She had been telling him of Quigg's visit that morning. She had
changed her dress for a new one. The dress was of brown cloth, and had
been made in the village--tight where it should be loose, and loose
where it should be tight. She had put it on, she told Pop, to make a
creditable appearance before the board that night.

Jennie was flitting in and out between the sitting-room and the garden,
her hands full of blossoms, filling the china jars on the mantel: none
of them contained Quigg's contribution. Patsy was flat on his back on
the small patch of green surrounding the porch, playing circus-elephant
with Stumpy, who stood over him with leveled head.

Up the hill, but a few rods away, Cully was grazing the Big Gray--the
old horse munching tufts of fresh, sweet grass sprinkled with
dandelions. Cully walked beside him. Now and then he lifted one of his
legs, examining the hoof critically f