"Jerusalem! No wonder everybody was scared at me when I scare myself!"

he exclaimed. "It's the soot from that chimney. Just think, it never occurred to me why they were all so alarmed at my appearance. Why, I'd make a locomotive shy off the track if it saw me coming along."

It did not take Jack long to clean up, and, while his face was still grimy when he had finished, it was not, at least, such a startling looking countenance as he had presented to those from whom he sought to find his way back to Musky Bay.

"Now that I look more presentable I guess I'll try and get some breakfast," thought the boy as, his thirst appeased, he scrambled up the bank again.

About half a mile farther along the road was the queerest-looking house Jack had ever seen. It was circular in form, and looked like three giant cheese-boxes, perched one on the top of the other, with the smallest at the top.

"Well, whoever lives there must be a crank," thought Jack; "but still, since I've money to pay for my breakfast, even a crank won't drive me away, I guess."

A man was sawing wood in the back yard and to him Jack addressed himself.

"I'd like to know if I can buy a meal here?" he said.

"No, you can't fry no eel here," said the man, and went on sawing.

"I didn't say anything about frying eels. I said 'Can I get a meal?'"

shouted Jack, who now saw that the man was somewhat deaf.

"Don't see it makes no difference to you how I feel," rejoined the man.

"I'm hungry. I want to eat. I can pay," bellowed Jack.

"What's that about yer feet?" asked the deaf man.

"Not feet--eat--E-A-T. I want to eat," fairly yelled Jack.

"What do you mean by calling me a beat?" angrily rejoined the deaf man.

"I didn't. Oh, Great Scott, everything is going wrong to-day," cried Jack. Then he cupped his hands and fairly screeched in the man's ear.

"Can I buy a meal here?"

A light of understanding broke over the other's face.

"Surely you can," he said. "Araminta--that's my wife--'ull fix up a bite fer yer. Why didn't you say what you wanted in the fust place?"

"I did," howled Jack, crimson in the face by this time; "but you didn't hear me. You are deaf."

"Wa'al, I may be a _little_ hard o' hearing, young feller," admitted the man, "but I hain't deef by a dum sight."

Jack didn't argue the point, but followed him to the house, where a pleasant-faced woman soon prepared a piping hot breakfast. As he ate and drank, Jack inquired the way to Musky Bay.

"It ain't far," the woman told him, "five miles or so."

"Can I get anyone to drive me back there?" asked Jack, who was pretty well tired out by this time.

"Oh, yes; Abner will drive you over fer a couple of dollars."

She hurried out to tell her husband to hitch up. Jack could hear her shouting her directions in the yard.

"All right. No need uv speaking so loud. I kin hear ye," Jack could hear the deaf man shouting back. "I kin hear ye."

"Just think," said the woman when she came back into the kitchen, where Jack had eaten, "Abner won't admit he's deef one bit. At church on Sundays he listens to the sermon just as if he understood it. If anyone asks him what it was about, he'll tell 'um that he doesn't care to discuss the new minister, but he's not such a powerful exhorter as the old one. He's mighty artful, is Abner."

The rig was soon ready and Jack was on his homeward way. To his annoyance, Abner proved very talkative and required answers to all his remarks.

"Gracious, I'll have no lungs left if I have to shout this way all the way home," thought Jack. "It'll be Husky Bay. If ever I drive with Abner again, I'll bring along some cough lozenges."

"Must be pretty tough to be really, down-right deef," remarked Abner, after Jack had roared out answers to him for a mile and a half.

"It must be," yelled Jack.

"Yes, sir-ee," rejoined Abner, wagging his head. "I'm just a trifle that er-way, and it bothers me quite a bit sometimes, 'specially in damp weather. Gid-ap!"

CHAPTER XVIII.

BILL Sn.i.g.g.e.rS DECIDES.

We left Billy Raynor in a most unpleasant position. With escape from the cave within his grasp the way was blocked, it will be recalled, by some wild beast, the nature of which Billy did not know. His torch, made from the withered bush that was responsible for his dilemma, was burning low.

Just in front of him glowed two luminous green eyes.

While Billy stood there hesitating, the creature gave another of its alarming growls. Hardly thinking what he was doing, Billy, startled by a shrill caterwaul, which followed the growl, flung his lighted torch full at the eyes, and heard a screech that sounded as if his blazing missile had struck its mark.

[Ill.u.s.tration: While Billy stood there hesitating, the creature gave another of its alarming growls.]

There was a swift patter of feet and the eyes vanished.

"Great Christmas, I've scared the creature off," said Billy to himself, with a sigh of relief; "a lucky thing I had that torch."

He walked forward more boldly. The evident alarm of the animal that had scared him, when the torch struck, convinced the boy that there was no more danger to be feared from it. In a few seconds more he was out in the open air and on a hillside.

It was still pitch dark, but the stars seemed to be growing fainter.

Billy drew out his watch and, striking a match, looked at it. The hands pointed to three-thirty.

"It will be daylight before long," thought Billy. "If I start walking now I will only lose myself. I'll wait till it gets light and then try to get my bearings."

Never had dawn come so slowly as did that one, in the opinion of the tired and impatient lad. But at last the eastern sky grew faintly gray and then flushed red, and another day was born. In the growing light, Billy stood up and looked about him. The bay or any familiar landmarks were not in sight. Billy was in a quandary. But before long he came to a decision.

"I'll strike out for a main road," he decided; "if I can find one, that will bring me to where I can get some information, at any rate."

With this end in view, he scrambled down the hillside and found himself in some fields. After a half-hour's walk across these, he saw, with delight, that he had not miscalculated his direction. A road lay just beyond a brush hedge.

Billy made his way through a gap and struck off, in what he was tolerably sure was the way to Musky Bay. If he had but known it, however, he was proceeding in an exactly opposite direction. He had walked about a mile when another foot pa.s.senger hove in sight.