She could smell the sweet girl child he had buried in the garage in autumn, 1 even under the frozen ground. “Perhaps. Why did the beggar hang on down there, when he could have enjoyed all that civilization had to offer? Yes, he would be mighty glad to see McClintock; and the sooner he came the better. In a few minutes, an appalling change was perceptible. The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. ’ ‘Eh? Why did you not say so, man?’ demanded Hilary crossly. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. “Please come by.
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