“You needn’t laugh, Billy Bradford,” said Mr. Prescott. “If you do, perhaps I won’t tell you something.”
“Do,” said Billy.
“People,” said Mr. Prescott, coming part way back into the room, “didn’t always have last names. When they came into fashion, all the workers on anvils were given Smith for a last name. That’s where the Smiths came from!”
“Honest?” asked Billy.
“Fact,” said Mr. Prescott, as he went through the door.
When the nurse came down a little later, she found Billy fast asleep among the cushions, and his hand was lying on the hilt of the Damascus blade.
CHAPTER XII
THOMAS MURPHY, TIMEKEEPER
“There’s a garden,” said Mr. Prescott, the next morning.