Part 13 (2/2)

The children might go too, she suggested. It would be very little distance out of Honoria's way.

Mr. Raymond sighed, but went for his walking-stick; and they set out.

When they reached the farmhouse he left the children outside.

The town-place was admirably suited for a game of ”Follow-my-leader,”

which they played for twenty minutes with great seriousness, to the disgust of the roosting poultry. Then Taffy spied a niche, high up, where a slice had been cut out of a last year's haystack. He fetched a ladder. Up they climbed, drew the ladder after them, and played at being Outlaws in a Cave, until the dusk fell.

Still Mr. Raymond lingered indoors. ”He thinks we have gone home,”

said Honoria. ”Now the thing would be to creep down and steal one of the fowls, and bring it back and cook it.”

”We can make believe to do it,” Taffy suggested.

Honoria considered for a moment. ”I'll tell you what: there's a great Bryanite meeting to-night, down at the Chapel. I expect there'll be a devil hunt.”

”What's that?”

”They turn out the lights and hunt for him in the dark.”

”But he isn't _really_ there?”

”I don't know. Suppose we play at scouts and creep down the road?

If the Chapel is lit up we can spy in on them; and then you can squeeze your nose on the gla.s.s and make a face, while I say 'Boo!'

and they'll think the Old Gentleman is really come.”

They stole down the ladder and out of the town-place. The Chapel stood three-quarters of a mile away, on a turfed wastrel where two high roads met and crossed.

Long before they reached it they heard clamorous voices and groans.

”I expect the devil hunt has begun,” said Honoria. But when they came in sight of the building its windows were brightly lit.

The noise inside was terrific.

The two children approached it with all the precaution proper to scouts. Suddenly the clamour ceased and the evening fell so silent that Taffy heard the note of an owl away in the Tredinnis plantations to his left. This silence was daunting, but they crept on and soon were standing in the illuminated ring of furze whins which surrounded the Chapel.

”Can you reach up to look in?”

Taffy could not; so Honoria obligingly went on hands and knees, and he stood on her back.

”Can you see? What's the matter?”

Taffy gasped. ”_He's_ in there!”

”What?--the Old Gentleman?”

”Yes; no--your grandfather!”

”What? Let me get up. Here, you kneel--”

It was true. Under the rays of a paraffin lamp, in face of the kneeling congregation, sat Squire Moyle; his body stiffly upright on the bench, his jaws rigid, his eyes with horror in them fastened upon the very window through which Honoria peered--fastened, it seemed to her, upon her face. But, no; he saw nothing. The Bryanites were praying; Honoria saw their lips moving. Their eyes were all on the old man's face. In the straining silence his mouth opened--but only for a moment--while his tongue wetted his parched lips.

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