She turned and the blood mounted swiftly to her white cheeks. "And did he feel the light again, Billy?" she whispered eagerly.
"He felt the light," said the boy, "an' he sang all the way back home."
"Oh!" she cried and hid her face on her arms.
Billy arose hastily, saying something about helping her father with the ducks and went outside. He found Landon seated on a soap-box behind the boat house, industriously stripping the ducks of their feathers.
"Say," said the man as Billy came up, "you know when ducks put on an extra coverin' of feathers a hard winter is in sight? Well, by gosh, these birds have all put on an extra undershirt. Look," holding the duck in his hands up for inspection. "How's that for a coat o' down?"
"It sure is heavy," agreed Billy. "I saw another sure sign over there in the ponds that says it's goin' to be a hard winter, one I've never knowed to fail. It was the mushrat houses. The rats are throwin' 'em up mighty big an' thick."
"And warm, I'll bet."
"Yep, an' warm. We're sure to have a rough fall an' a humdinger of a winter."
"And I s'pose a rough fall means good duckin'?" laughed Landon. "Oh, by the way, Billy, before I forget. Would you mind runnin' in to old Swanson's landin' on your way home and tellin' him that a couple of fellers from Cleveland are comin' to his place early next month to shoot. They were here last night. One of em's a lawyer named Maddoc an' he give me this money to pass on to Swanson, so's the old codger would be sure and hold a room for 'em."
He felt in his vest pocket and fished out a ten dollar note, which he handed to Billy. "Maddoc and a party of other men were cruisin' in a yacht. They docked here last night," he explained. "Left at sunup for Cleveland."