Billy stood frowning. "Say, maybe Jacobs is the feller that fires the boilers that runs the windlass," he hazarded.
"Nope, that man's name's Sanderson. He don't have anythin' to do with the drillers. Nope, Bill, Jacobs hain't never been seen, but I'm dead sure he's the boss of the outfit."
"All right, Anse. You kin learn a lot more by keepin' your ears an' eyes open. Whatever you see an' hear, you're to tell me, see?"
Anson nodded.
"All hunky. Now, I'll jest peel off these duds, an' get inter my own. Ma'll be gettin' uneasy."
But when Billy, dressed in his own suit, descended the stairs to peer cautiously out, it was to find the room deserted. Mrs. Wilson's voice, high-pitched and excited, came from the back yard.
"Willium! oh Willium!" she was calling.
With a bound he was outside and over beside her. She sat on the block beneath the hop-vine, her face in her apron. She was rocking to and fro and sobbing.
"Ma," cried Billy, "whatever is the matter?"
"Oh Willium," she cried, "my heart is breakin'. Oh to think how I misjedged him!"