tain feel more like going to sleep. He was not going to shut his eyes; oh, no; he was just going to take the time at last to think over all the things that had happened in twenty-four hours. Only think, yesterday at this time he and Captain Saulsby had sat at the door putting the finishing touches to the Josephine. No, it could not have been yesterday; it must have been last week. A wasp was buzzing in the window; it seemed very loud, but finally became fainter as though it were moving away—very—far—away.
A dead boy could not have slept more heavily than did Billy on the hard floor of the old mill. The wind rose and rain struck, pattering, against the windows, a door closed somewhere, perhaps not merely by the force of the wind. Captain Saulsby stirred in his sleep and groaned out loud, but still the weary boy slept on. The far-off rumble of some warship at target practice came faintly on the wind—it had no power to waken him. It was not until hours had gone by, not until one shower had passed and then another, and even the second one had cleared away; not until the boisterous wind had caught one of the heavy shutters and slammed it to with a crash,
