ather up the barrels; but those government devils
followed the horses like idiots and felt mighty set up when they overtook
them! But when they saw they had _only_ the horses, oh! good Lord!"

Farwell laughed absently; his eyes were fixed on the water. Even in the
Channel it had an angry look. The current was set from the Bay, and the
stream rose and fell as if it had an ugly secret in its keeping.

"Mrs. McAdam," he said suddenly, "I'm going out to--to meet the boys!"

"God save ye, Mr. Farwell--for which?"

When Mary fell into that form of speech she was either troubled or
infuriated.

"I'm restless; I feel like a fling. Come on, you scamps!" to his dogs,
"get home and keep house till I come back."

His dogs leaped to him and then made for the Green. Without another word
Farwell walked to his launch at the foot of the wharf steps and prepared
for his trip.

A black wave of fear enveloped Mary McAdam. She was overcome by a
certainty of evil, and, when Farwell's boat had disappeared, she strode
to the Green and gave vent to her anxiety. There were those who
comforted, those who jeered, but the men were largely away on fishing
business, and the women and boys were more interested in her excitement
than they were in her cause for fear.

It was eight o'clock and very dark when Doctor Ledyard, driving down
from Far Hill Place for the mail, paused to listen to Mrs. McAdam's
expressions of anxiety. Young Dick Travers was beside him, and Mary's
words held him.

"Was Jerry-Jo with your boys, Mrs. McAdam?" he asked.

"He was that! And Jerry-Jo always brings ill-luck on a trip. I should
have known better than to let the half-breed scamp go. 'Twas pity as
moved me. Jerry-Jo is one as thinks rocking a boat is spirit, and yelling
for help, when no help is needed, a rare joke. The young devil!"

Doctor Ledyard and Dick stayed on after getting the mail. A strange,
tense feeling was growing in the place. Mary's terror was contagious.

"If the men would only come back," moaned the distracted mother; "I'd
send the lot of them out after the young limbs!"

At eight-thirty the storm broke. A dull, thick storm which had used most
of its fury out beyond Flying Point, and in the breast of the sullen wind
came the sound of an engine panting, panting in the darkness that was
shot by flashes of lightning and rent by thunder-claps. Mary McAdam gazed
petrified at Bounder, who had followed her to the Green.

"Why don't yer yelp?" she