"Poor Billy! poor Billy!" said the parson in conclusion. "He was careless about higher things. I hope the good Lord will not judge him too harshly."
"But he was not always like that, father," Nellie remarked.
"No, no, thank God. He had a happy home when I first came to this parish, long before you were born. I have often told you about the sweet, God-fearing wife he had then. But after she was laid to rest a great change took place in Billy's life. He became very rebellious and never darkened the church door. He acquired a great passion for money, and grew to be most miserly. As the years passed his harshness increased. He waxed sullen and disagreeable. His neighbours shunned him and he looked upon them all with a suspicious eye. His money he never placed in a bank, but kept it in his house in gold coin, in a strong, iron box, so I have been told, and would count it over and over again with feverish delight."
"But, father," remonstrated Nellie, "there must have been something good in poor old Billy. You know how fond he was of Tony Stickles."
"True, very true, dear. I have often wondered about the affection between the two. No one else could live with the old man, except Tony, and he served him like a faithful dog. It is generally believed that Billy confided many things to Tony. He is a peculiar lad, and people have tried in vain to find out what he knew. He will certainly feel badly when he comes out of the woods, where he is now working, and hears about Billy's death. But here we are at home. Oh dear, the journey has greatly tired me," and the parson panted heavily as he entered the house.
During the homeward walk Dan trudged along close by Nellie's side, busy with his own thoughts. He longed for something to happen that he might show her what a man he was. If a robber or a wolf, or some frightful monster, would spring out from the roadside, he would meet it single-handed, kill or drive it away. Then to behold the look of gratitude and admiration upon the woman's face as she looked at him, what bliss that would be! Little did the father and daughter realize, as they slowly walked and conversed, what thoughts and feelings were thrilling the little lad by their side, feelings which in all ages have electrified clods of humanity into heroes, and illuminated life's dull commonplaces with the golden romance of chivalry.
Chapter V
The Breath of Slander
"When a man dies he kicks the dust." Thus pithily wrote Henry Thoreau, the quaint philosopher, in his little shack by the beautiful Walden pool. The truth of this saying was certainly verified in old Billy Fletcher's death, and the people of Glendow were destined to see the dust stirred by his departure, rise in a dense cloud and centre around the venerable parson of Glendow.
The day after the fire was clear and fine. Not a breath of wind stirred the crisp air, and the sun-kissed snow lying smooth and white over all the land sparkled like millions of diamonds.