Ever since Philip's return he has been scratching himself in the most annoying manner. Before I started for the hospital to-night, he came into my room, clawing viciously at his ankles. "Gimme something for the eech," he said.

"For what?" I asked.

"For the eech,—I knowed I'd ketch it when I seed Dewey Lovel pawing round so them nights I spent with him."

"Do you mean the itch?" I inquired, sharply.

"No, I mean the eech,—the seven-year-eech I reckon this is, by the way it feels."

"I have no idea what to do for such a disease as the itch!" I replied, helplessly.

Philip danced on one foot, clawing his arms now. "'Itch',—listen at that now, boys,—she calls the eech the itch,—don't know no better,—ha! ha!"

"What do people do for it?" I asked.

"Some rubs on lard-and-sulphur; and some axle-grease."

"I'll ask the nurse for medicine,—go along now, please,—don't stand so near me!"

"Get enough for three," was his parting remark, "Taulbee and Hose is beginning to scratch too!"

Yes, get enough for a dozen, he had better say!

Saturday, P. M.

This afternoon bows and spikes (arrows) became violently the fashion. All the boys went up the mountain side to get hickory limbs for bows, and arrowwood for "spikes". But from Geordie alone can be bought the horse-shoe nails (Hosea's before popgun time) which, when hammered flat at the head, shaped around a nail, and then fitted on the end of a spike, make a truly dangerous and desirable weapon. These nails are held at five cents apiece; but when the buyer has no money, as usually happens, the set of marbles received in his Christmas stocking is acceptable. As Keats says, what good are "marvles" anyway, with the ground either snow or slush all the time?

Sunday Morning.

My fears are verified. Every boy on the place is scratching; and I too have an irresistible impulse in that direction.

Sunday Night.

All my family in quarantine with the itch, and I myself experiencing all the agonies. I think it is King James who says, "The Itch is a disease well worth the having, for the satisfaction afforded by scratching"; but I am forced to dissent from the royal opinion. And the cure,—the being swathed for days in lard-and-sulphur—is almost as bad as the disease. Worst of all is the thought that for a week I shall not see Nucky.

Sunday, a week later.

The boys and I were released from quarantine to-day, and I ran to the hospital the first thing. Nucky looks much better, and is gaining strength at a normal rate. He is much troubled, however, because Blant has not been to see him again. "I know things is wrong on Trigger,—I am afeared Todd is at his devilment again," he said.

I left after promising to spend the afternoon with him, and went with the other boys to church. Geordie and Hosea were late dressing, and were left to follow. What was my astonishment, when they did walk in, to see Geordie wearing Hosea's fine new overcoat he brought from home after Christmas,—a coat spun, dyed, woven and made by his mother. Hosea wore the shiny, too-large one which we had given Geordie from the barrels. During service Geordie, with hair plastered down and eyes on the ceiling, sang hymns more loudly than ever.

"Why do you wear Hosea's overcoat?" I demanded, as soon as we were out in the road.

"Him and me's swapped," he replied, carefully avoiding the word "traded"; "I never wanted to do it, did I, Hose?"

"Why was it done, then,—you seem to have decidedly the best of the bargain."

"You haint seed the boot he got," replied Geordie, calmly. "Show her that 'ere watch and chain, Hose."

Hosea drew from his pocket a battered nickel watch, which Geordie held toward me with the air of a connoisseur. "That 'ere's a three-dollar-and-ninety-five-cent watch," he said; "I got it a-Christmas on Bald Eagle, off of Johnny Miles, that just come home from the Penitentiary."

"Did you pay him that much for it?"

"No'm,—he was offering it around for that,—I got it a little-grain cheaper."

"How much cheaper?"

"Well, I paid him forty cents spot-cash for it,—he was a-needing money."

"And you call that a fair trade,—your old worn coat and a forty-cent watch for his nice new coat his mother made?"

"It's a three-dollar-and-ninety-five-cent watch, Miss Loring," Geordie repeated, patiently: "And, been in the Penitentiary!"

This failing to enhance its value in my eyes, he added, "And that haint all,—just cast your eye on that chain!"

The chain was a flimsy affair of two brass wires, on which were strung at intervals three battered objects which I at last recognized as dice. "Them 'ere," said Geordie impressively, "is able to make a living for a man all by theirselves. I seed Johnny Miles make a dollar'n' a quarter in five minutes, a-flingin' 'em. And when Hose heared about it, he said he were bound to have 'em. And thaint nary nother boy on Perilous I'd a-let have 'em; but Hose he's such a good boy, and so peaceable, and never does no meanness, and allus minds you, and knows his books, and gits up in time of a morning, I felt like I ought to prosper him if I could. So I told him all right, to take them dice and buy him a hundred overcoats if he wanted!"

"How did you come to part with them if they are so valuable?"

"Oh, I got t'other set Johnny sold me," replied Geordie, comfortably, "I aim to quit trading now, like you want,—yes, I give you my hand I haint going to trade nary nother time! And I writ maw last night I seed my way clear now to come to Virginia this summer, and see her and the world, and ride on the railroad train!"

These rosy anticipations were cruelly shattered. "Give me those dice at once," I said, "You and Hosea may not know that throwing dice is gambling, and that gambling of any kind is strictly forbidden in this school. Trade back those overcoats at once. And never again let me hear of your associating with Johnny Miles!"

Wednesday.

Terrible news indeed from Trigger. On my way to the garden after school this afternoon, I saw all the boys running toward the front fence, where a man on a nag was talking and gesticulating. I recognized Blant's neighbor Saxby, who had brought bad news before. When I reached the fence he began his tale all over again.

During the two weeks since Blant's last visit here, it appears that Todd Cheever has continued to haunt the Marrs premises at night, lurking in dark places, and making further attempts to shoot Blant. The strain of the constant watchfulness has been great for both Blant and Rich,—indeed, the feeling that one is being watched from the darkness by the eyes of hate is probably the most terrible one a human being can know.

Blant's nervousness has been augmented by the fact that for three days handrunning he has had visions which have filled him with fear for Rich. Monday while they were together "snaking" logs down the mountain side, he suddenly saw Rich standing beside him headless,—a second glance showed him Rich fastening a log-chain thirty feet distant. Tuesday morning he beheld the headless shade at his elbow, while Rich was on the far side of a fodder-stack from him; and about noon, the same dreadful apparition started up beside him as he lifted a skillet of meat from the fire, Rich being at the time on his way to catch a brief glimpse of his people at home. Blant was in an agony until Rich returned safely about four o'clock; then he told him of the warnings he had had, and implored him to be exceedingly wary and careful, Rich being quite amused at his earnestness.

After supper they were all gathered as usual about the fire, Blant holding the babe, when there was a halloo from the road. "Don't pay no attention to it," said Rich, "it's likely Todd, trying to tole you out." But the call sounded again, in an unmistakably strange voice, and, handing the babe to his father, Blant started for the door. Rich sprang ahead of him. "If anybody goes, it'll be me," he said. Blant forcibly put him back. "You don't set foot outside this house to-night," he declared, "not after the visions I have seed." Then, taking his forty-five from his pocket, he passed out of the door and into the open passageway.

"I want to inquire how much further on it is to Billy Marrs's," called the strange voice from the road.

"Something over a mile," replied Blant.

At the same instant, as Blant had probably anticipated, a man dashed into the passage from the rear, firing, closely followed by a second, also firing. Conjecturing at once that Todd had hired some stranger to call him out, in order that he and a confederate might attack him, Blant took instant deadly aim at both the men. The first—Todd—fell face forward into the light from the doorway; the second, with the cry, "It's me, Blant," also staggered forward a few steps, and Blant caught the dying Rich in his arms. Guessing Todd's whereabouts, Rich, disobeying commands, had jumped from the window to attack him from the rear, and had thoughtlessly exposed himself to Blant's deadly aim.

Saxby said that Blant, in an agony, had lifted his friend, dashed water over him, worked for hours to restore him, refused to admit that he could be dead; and finally, when compelled to abandon hope, had laid the revolver to his own temple and fired, his father knocking it up in time to produce only a scalp wound, and Saxby and others who had come in overpowering him and taking it from him before he could fire again. They stood guard over him the rest of the night, while he raved over Rich's body. "Never did I see the likes of the love of them two boys," said Saxby, with tears in his eyes. "And Blant in gineral so quiet,—nobody'd a-dreamed he could keer so deep."

Then, with the coming of daylight, Blant had called for his nag and had announced his determination to give himself up to the sheriff. "Since I haint permitted to kill myself, the law must kill me," he had declared, "for this misery is more than I can endure and live." In vain all tried to dissuade him; he was adamant. "So the whole passel of us come over with him," said Saxby. "Him and t'others stopped up here at the sheriff's, but I come ahead to fetch the news to the little Marrs chap."

"Never!" I said, "it might kill him, now. He must not know a word of it."

"I allowed it might holp him up some to hear Todd was safe dead," he apologized.

"He must hear nothing," I said.

Fifteen minutes later, a sad cavalcade came down the road. There were a dozen or more men, and last of all, between the sheriff and deputy, rode Blant, his face rigid with misery and horror. Pale, deathlike, unseeing, he rode. When I ran out in the road to give him a word of sympathy he looked straight through me, never seeing me. My boys and a gathering crowd followed in awed silence to the jail.