Billy in Heaven, that's certain, and perhaps he's right. I guess he hit
the Fletchers pretty hard."

"Oh, yes," the other replied. "The parson got his say from the pulpit, hut
the Fletchers will have theirs later."

"Why, what have they to say?"

"Oh, you'll see."

"About that box?"

"Yes."

"Tut, tut, man. Why, they haven't a leg to stand on in that matter."

"But they'll make legs. Surely you know Tom Fletcher by this time. He'll
stop at nothing when once he gets started, and though he may not be able
to do anything definitely, he'll do a lot of talking, and talk tells in
Glendow, mark my word."

And this proved only too true. Talk did begin to tell both in the homes
and at the stores. One man, who had met the parson on a hurried trip to
the city, declared that he was driving like mad, and hardly spoke in
passing. Another related that when Tom Fletcher asked Billy about the box,
the dying man pointed to the parson, and tried to speak. Though some of
the more sensible scoffed at such stories as ridiculous, it made little
difference, for they passed from mouth to mouth, increasing in interest
and importance according to the imagination of the narrator.