as_ an overturned canoe. The rheumatic old man who had
come up with the team towed it ashore, in the wake of its sister bark.
As if in a dreadful dream, the girls heard the quavering tones of the
old voice, his gray head shaking the while.

"Two of 'em, you say. The pretty girl in white and the little one. And
me a-waiting on, for I don't know what. It don't seem fair, somehow."

It was ten o'clock that evening when Jerry Morton heard the news. Ill
tidings travel fast, even without the help of modern invention. One of
the Snooks boys, not Andy but Elisha, an older brother, brought the
word, and his manner was suggestive of a certain complacency as if he
felt that his own importance was increased by his momentous tidings. He
found Jerry sitting on the steps, though it was long past bedtime, his
chin on his hand, and his unblinking gaze fixed upon the stars, as if he
were trying to stare them out of countenance.

"I don't b'lieve you've heard about the drownding."

"What d'ye mean?" Jerry's head lifted, yet his response was less
dramatic than Elisha had hoped for.

"You know that Raymond girl, up to the Cottage. Well, she--"

With a cry, Jerry pounced upon his informer. The terrified Elisha
struggled to free himself, gasping disconnected protests. "'Twasn't
me--I didn't do it--Snake River--"

"If you're lying to me," warned Jerry, coming to his senses and
loosening his hold, "you'll be sorry. Mighty sorry."

Elisha crossed his heart in proof of his veracity. "And if you don't
b'lieve me, go over to Cole's and ask them."

The advice seemed good. Jerry took to his heels. It was a mistake, of
course, either one of 'Lish Snooks' lies, or else a mistake. Yet a
horrible doubt rose in the midst of his assertions of confidence, like
the head of a snake lifted amid a bed of flowers.

At the Cole farmhouse every one was astir. Mrs. Cole who had just
returned from Dolittle Cottage, and was going back to spend the night,
after attending to some necessary household tasks, was crying softly as
she worked and talked.

"Those poor children! Seems as if they couldn't take in what had
happened. They're dazed like. The one that looks delicate, Ruth, had a
bad fainting spell, and the plump little one, she breaks down and cries
every now and then, but the other two, they sit around white and still,
not saying a word or shedding a tear. 'Tain't natural. The Lord meant
tears to ease our hearts, when the load's too heavy to bear. It