"I can't say; since this stem began to sprout, anyway. This is May. Say since March, or even earlier; you see that the stem is very well grown."
"Then the person who dropped it was here, on this very spot, in March," said Cynthia.
"Oh, that does not follow at all," said the Skipper, who had drawn near, much interested. "The ring might have laid there a long time before the stem decided to grow through it."
"No," said I, "I don't agree with you. I think the ring was dropped by its owner exactly over the young and tender shoot, and it has had the strength——"
"Of mind——" interpolated Cynthia.
"Or of purpose——" chimed in the Skipper.
A shriek interrupted our nonsensical parleying. The Haïtienne had come shyly up to us, wondering doubtless what we had found to so interest us all. She had thrust her head forward into the circle close to Cynthia's arm. The shriek that she gave utterance to was blood-curdling. It was between a howl and a wail. It chilled me through and through. The girl put her hand quickly to her heart, looked at each of us as if in great terror, and, turning, fled to the near woods. The Bo's'n joined the group, and stood respectfully on the edge, waiting to ask if he should build a fire and prepare breakfast. He craned his long neck forward and looked over my shoulder at the curious bauble. When his eye lighted upon its barbaric strangeness, he drew a short, sharp breath and turned away, running in a different direction from that which the girl had taken; but before he started I heard his horrified voice mutter in distinct tones:
""The Goat Without Horns!"