“Ah, just gone!” said both the women at once.
“There’s trouble up yonder—on the hill,” said Daniel, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder, and speaking in a strange, broken voice.
“Mary White’s baby!” exclaimed Mrs Pinhorn.
“Fits!” added Mrs Wishing; “they all went off that way.”
“Hang the baby,” muttered Daniel. He made his way past the women, who had pressed up close to him, to where the cobbler and Dimbleby stood.
“I’ve fetched the doctor,” he said, “and she wants the Greenways to know it; I thought maybe she’d be here.”
“What is it? Who’s ill?” asked the cobbler.
“Tain’t anyone that’s ill,” answered Daniel; “he’s stone dead. They shot him right through the heart.”
“Who? Who?” cried all the voices together.
“I found him,” continued Daniel, “up in the woods; partly covered up with leaves he was. Smiling peaceful and stone dead. He was always a brave feller and done his dooty, did James White on the hill. But he won’t never do it no more.”