ld not be readily loosed. The united weight and impetus of
the onset burst the flimsy doors into fragments, and as the party fled
in devious directions in the misty moonlight, the calm radiance entered
at the wide-spread portal and illuminated the vacant place where late
had been so merry a crew.

[Illustration: THE UNITED WEIGHT AND IMPETUS OF THE ONSET BURST THE
FLIMSY DOORS INTO FRAGMENTS]

Walter Wyatt had known the time when the incident would have held an
incomparable relish for him. But now he gazed all forlorn into the empty
building with a single thought in his mind. "Not one of 'em keered a
mite! Nare good word, nare sigh, not even, 'Fare ye well, old mate!'"

His breast heaved, his eyes flashed.

"An' I hev loant money ter Jim, whenst I hed need myself; an' holped
George in the mill, when his wrist war sprained, without a cent o' pay;
an' took the blame when 'Dolphus war faulted by his dad fur lamin' the
horse-critter; an' stood back an' let Pete git the meat whenst we-uns
shot fur beef, bein' he hev got a wife an' chil'ren ter feed. All
_leetle_ favors, but nare _leetle_ word."

He had turned from the window and was tramping absently down the road,
all unmindful of the skulking methods of the spectral gentry. If he had
chanced to be observed, his little farce, that had yet an element of
tragedy in its presentation, must soon have reached its close. But the
fog hung about him like a cloak, and when the moon cast aside the
vapors, it was in a distant silver sheen illumining the far reaches of
the valley. Only when its light summoned forth a brilliant and glancing
reflection on a lower level, as if a thousand sabers were unsheathed at
a word, he recognized the proximity of the river and came to a sudden
halt.

"Whar is this fool goin'?" he demanded angrily of space. "To the
graveyard, I declar', ez ef I war a harnt fur true, an' buried sure
enough. An' I wish I war. I wish I war."

He realized, after a moment's consideration, that he had been
unconsciously actuated by the chance of meeting the wagon, returning by
this route from the cross-roads' store. He was tired, disheartened; his
spirit was spent; he would be glad of the lift. He reflected, however,
that he must needs wait some time, for this was the date of a
revival-meeting at the little church, and the distillers' wagon would
lag, that its belated night journey might not be subjected to the
scrutiny and comment of the church-goers. Indeed, even n