“There was music.  It come soft first, and hushed the school, and froze the scholars like statutes.  Louder it come and louder—­a heavenly choir—­the melodium, the cordine, and the fiddle.  Then a great white light flooded the school-room.  It blinded the boys, and it blinded the girls.  The music played softer and softer—­the melodium, the cordine, and the fiddle—­and with it, keepin’ time with it, the light come softer, too; so lookin’ up the scholars seen there in the celestial glow, a solemn company gethered round the boy—­the he-roes of old—­Hercules and General Grant, Joshuay and Washington—­all the mighty fighters of history.  Just one glimpse the scholars had, for the music struck up louder, and the light glowed brighter and brighter till it blinded them.  Softer and softer the music come—­the melodium, the cordine, and the fiddle.  It sounded like marchin’, they said, and they heard the tramp, tramp, tramp of the sperrit soldiers.  Then there was quiet—­only the roarin’ of the stove and the snuffin’ of the little ones.  And when they looked up Leander was alone—­settin’ there on the platform, kind of rubbin’ his eyes—­alone.”

There was silence in the store.  Josiah Nummler’s pipe was going full blast, and while the white cloud hid him from the others, I could see a gentle smile on his fat face.

“Mighty son’s!” cried Henry Holmes, “that there’s unpossible.”

Josiah planted his pole on the floor and lifted himself to his feet.

“It’s only a fairy story, Henery,” he said.

“What does it illustrate?” cried Aaron Kallaberger.  “Nothin’, I says.  We was talkin’ about Mark and William Bellus, and you switches off on Leander and Ernest.  To a certain pint your story agrees with what my boy told me of the doin’s in the school this afternoon.”

“What doing’s?” I exclaimed.  This talk puzzled me, and I was determined to get to the bottom of the mystery.

“Why, wasn’t you there?” cried Isaac Bolum.  “Wasn’t it you and William?”

“No,” I fairly shouted.  “Perry Thomas had the school.”

Josiah Nummler’s pole clattered to the floor, and he sank into a chair.

“I see—­I see,” he gasped.  “Poor William!”

“I see—­I see,” said I.  “Poor William!”

For William had felt the hand of “Doogulus!”

[Illustration:  William had felt the hand of “Doogulus.”]

XII

It was young Colonel’s first day of life.  He had been born six months before, but for him that had been simply the beginning of existence.  Now he was to live.  He was to go with Captain, and with Betsy his mother, with Arnold Arker’s Mike and Major, the best of his breed, to learn to take the trail and follow it, singing as he ran.