eter spoke quite loudly, "Oh, shucks! I don't believe
yeh heered anythin'."

The major made a frantic downward gesture with his hand. "Shet up, will
yeh!" he said, in an angry undertone.

Peter became silent for a moment, but presently he said again, "Oh, yeh
didn't hear anythin'."

The major turned to glare at his companion in despair and wrath.

"What's th' matter with yeh? Can't yeh shet up?"

"Oh, this here ain't no use. If you're goin' in after 'im, why don't yeh
go in after 'im?"

"Well, gimme time, can't yeh?" said the major, in a growl. And, as if to
add more to this reproach, he climbed the fence that compassed the
woods, looking resentfully back at his companion.

"Well," said Peter, when the major paused.

The major stepped down upon the thick carpet of brown leaves that
stretched under the trees. He turned then to whisper, "You wait here,
will yeh?" His face was red with determination.

"Well, hol' on a minnet!" said Peter. "You--I--we'd better----"

"No," said the major. "You wait here."

He went stealthily into the thickets. Peter watched him until he grew to
be a vague, slow-moving shadow. From time to time he could hear the
leaves crackle and twigs snap under the major's awkward tread. Peter,
intent, breathless, waited for the peal of sudden tragedy. Finally, the
woods grew silent in a solemn and impressive hush that caused Peter to
feel the thumping of his heart. He began to look about him to make sure
that nothing should spring upon him from the sombre shadows. He
scrutinized this cool gloom before him, and at times he thought he could
perceive the moving of swift silent shapes. He concluded that he had
better go back and try to muster some assistance to the major.

As Peter came through the corn, the women in the road caught sight of
the glittering figure and screamed. Many of them began to run. The
little boys, with all their valour, scurried away in clouds. Mrs. Joe
Peterson, however, cast a glance over her shoulders as she, with her
skirts gathered up, was running as best she could. She instantly stopped
and, in tones of deepest scorn, called out to the others, "Why, it's
on'y Pete Witheby!" They came faltering back then, those who had been
naturally swiftest in the race avoiding the eyes of those whose limbs
had enabled them to flee a short distance.

Peter came rapidly, appreciating the glances of vivid interest in the
eyes of the women. To their lightning-like questions, which hit