ay and bound into the woods.

It was all Yan could do to make him observe some of the decencies
and limp a little till out of sight. As it was, the change was quite
marked and the genial old witch called loudly on Biddy to see with
her own eyes how quickly she had helped young Raften "afther all the
dochters in the country hed giv him up."

"Now for Caleb Clark, Esq., Q.C.," said Sam.

"Q.C.?" inquired his friend.

"Some consider it means Queen's Counsel, an' some claims as it stands
for Queer Cuss. One or other maybe is right."

"You're stepping wonderfully for a crippled boy the doctors have given
up," remarked Yan.

"Yes; that's the proud flesh in me right leg that's doin' the high
steppin'. The left one is jest plain laig."

"Let's hide this somewhere till we get back," and Yan held up the
bundle of Witch-hazel.

"I'll hide that," said Sam, and he hurled the bundle afar into the
creek.

"Oh, Sam, that's mean. Maybe she wants it herself."

"Pooh, that's all the old brush is good for. I done more'n me duty
when I drank that swill. I could fairly taste the cat in it."

"What'll you tell her next time?"

"Well, I'll tell her I put the sticks in the right place an' where
they done the most good. I soaked 'em in water an' took as much as I
wanted of the flooid.

"She'll see for herself I really did pull through, and will be a
blamed sight happier than if I drank her old pisen brushwood an' had
to send for a really truly doctor."

Yan was silenced, but not satisfied. It seemed discourteous to throw
the sticks away--so soon, anyway; besides, he had curiosity to know
just what they were and how they acted.

V

Caleb

A mile farther was the shanty of Caleb Clark, a mere squatter now on a
farm once his own. As the boys drew near, a tall, round-shouldered man
with a long white beard was seen carrying in an armful of wood.

"Ye see the Billy Goat?" said Sam.

Yan sniffed as he gasped the "why" of the nickname.

"I guess you better do the talking; Caleb ain't so easy handled as the
witch, and he's just as sour on Da."

So Yan went forward rather cautiously and knocked at the open door of
the shanty. A deep-voiced Dog broke into a loud bay, the long beard
appeared, and its owner said, "Wall?"

"Are you Mr. Clark?"

"Yep." Then, "Lie down, Turk," to a black-and-tan Hound that came
growling out.

"I came--I--we wanted to ask some questions--if you don't mind."

"What might yer name be?"