er says they raised
the devil down at O'Hara's last night! This can't go on, d'ye see! No,
by Heaven!"

"What were they doing, Peter?" asked Lansing, coming up to where the old
man stood.

"Them Shinin' Banders? Waal, sir, they was kinder rigged out in white
night-gounds--robes o' Jordan they call 'em--an' they had rubbed some
kind o' shiny stuff--like matches--all over these there night-gounds,
an' then they sang a spell, an' then they all sot down on the edge o'
the river."

"Is that all?" asked Lansing, laughing.

"Wait!" growled the Major.

"Waal," continued old Peter, "the shinin' stuff on them night-gounds was
that bright that I seen the fishes swimmin' round kinder dazed like.
'Gosh!' sez I to m'self, it's like a Jack a-drawnin' them trout--yaas'r.
So I hollers out, 'Here! You Shinin' Band folk, you air a-drawin' the
trout. Quit it!' sez I, ha'sh an' pert-like. Then that there Munn, the
Prophet, he up an' hollers, 'Hark how the heathen rage!' he hollers. An'
with that, blamed if he didn't sling a big net into the river, an' all
them Shinin' Banders ketched holt an' they drawed it clean up-stream.
'Quit that!' I hollers, 'it's agin the game laws!' But the Prophet he
hollers back, 'Hark how the heathen rage!' Then they drawed that there
net out, an' it were full o' trout, big an' little--"

"Great Heaven!" roared the Major, black in the face.

"I think," said Lansing, quietly, "that I'll walk down to O'Hara's and
reason with our friend Munn. Sprowl may want a man to help him in this
matter."

III

When Sprowl galloped his sorrel mare across the bridge and up to the
O'Hara house, he saw a man and a young girl seated on the grass of the
river-bank, under the shade of an enormous elm.

Sprowl dismounted heavily, and led his horse towards the couple under
the elm. He recognized Munn in the thin, long-haired, full-bearded man
who rose to face him; and he dropped the bridle from his hand, freeing
the sorrel mare.

The two men regarded each other in silence; the mare strayed leisurely
up-stream, cropping the fresh grass; the young girl turned her head
towards Sprowl with a curious movement, as though listening, rather than
looking.

"Mr. Munn, I believe," said Sprowl, in a low voice.

"The Reverend Amasa Munn," corrected the Prophet, quietly. "You are
Peyster Sprowl."

Sprowl turned and looked full at the girl on the grass. The shadow of
her big straw hat fell across her eyes; she faced him intently.