monster, would spring out from the roadside, he would meet it
single-handed, kill or drive it away. Then to behold the look of
gratitude and admiration upon the woman's face as she looked at him, what
bliss that would be! Little did the father and daughter realize, as they
slowly walked and conversed, what thoughts and feelings were thrilling
the little lad by their side, feelings which in all ages have electrified
clods of humanity into heroes, and illuminated life's dull commonplaces
with the golden romance of chivalry.




Chapter V

The Breath of Slander


"When a man dies he kicks the dust." Thus pithily wrote Henry Thoreau, the
quaint philosopher, in his little shack by the beautiful Walden pool. The
truth of this saying was certainly verified in old Billy Fletcher's death,
and the people of Glendow were destined to see the dust stirred by his
departure, rise in a dense cloud and centre around the venerable parson of
Glendow.

The day after the fire was clear and fine. Not a breath of wind stirred
the crisp air, and the sun-kissed snow lying smooth and white over all the
land sparkled like millions of diamonds.

Near the window in her little cottage, not far from the Rectory, sat Mrs.
Larkins, busily knitting. She was a woman of superior qualities and had