avail nought. But, up. You've rested and supped. 'Tis time
you were a-saddle and riding home to your duty. Up and away. Though the
wood looks dark from here, 'tis because of our fire so bright. The stars
are out and once away from this the road will seem light enough. As
light as many another when you're played truant to your master to wander
in it. Up, and away!"

This Merimee, guide, was mostly a man of few words. Yet when, as now,
his toil for the day was over and the campers gathered for an evening
chat it flattered his vanity to be asked for the legends and traditions
of the countryside. His tongue had been loosened and he used it thus
liberally for the benefit of Anton, the mischievous, who "shamed his
duty" as old Merimee always honored it. As he finished speaking he
walked to the tree where the gray mare was fastened, slipped on its
saddle, tightened its girth, and called:

"Ready, Anton!"

And, as if in echo, again floated through the air overhead a
night-bird's mournful cry and Anton shrieked, then sprang to his feet
shivering with terror.

The men stared at him, astonished, and Monty ran to him, shook him, and
demanded:

"Don't you know better than that? Scare a fellow's wits out of his head?
That's nothing but the same old bird that's kept me awake--"

Melvin shouted in laughter, and the others echoed him.

"Kept you awake! Well, I'd like to know when? You that always go to
sleep over your supper--if you're allowed!"

Monty laughed, also, and the mirth around him seemed to restore Anton's
composure in a measure. But happening to glance toward Judge
Breckenridge he saw that gentleman looking at him keenly and his guilty
conscience awoke. In fact, the Judge was merely interested in watching
the changes which fear wrought upon Anton's healthy face and was growing
impatient to have the lad start home. He knew how eagerly his sister
would wait to read the letters he was returning her and to comply with
his own brief instructions concerning them. He was a man who wished
always to do at once anything he had to do; and nothing annoyed him more
than others' shilly-shallying. To his amazement, Anton begged him:

"Don't! Don't, sir, look at me like that! I didn't go for to do it!
She--she done it herself!"

"Who did what? Have you lost your common sense?"

Then it all came out, the whole miserable story; in broken sentences,
with keenest regret now, unhappy Anton told of Molly's following, of the
trick he