"I think I'd better not," he said with reluctance in his voice. "Can't
you toss a brand this way?"
By that time we had grown accustomed to the darkness, and I thought I
could see in the shadow of a tree a lightish figure. Aggie saw it at the
same instant and clutched my arm.
"Lizzie!" she gasped.
It was at that moment that Tish tossed the brand. It fell far short, but
her movement caught the stranger unawares. He ducked behind the tree,
but the flare of light had caught him. With the exception of what looked
like a pair of bathing-trunks he was as bare as my hand!
There was a sort of astonished silence. Then the voice called out:--"Why
in the world didn't you warn me?" it said, aggrieved. "I didn't know you
were going to throw the blamed thing."
We had all turned our backs at once and Tish's face was awful.
"Take it and go," she said, without turning. "Take it and go."
From the crackling of leaves and twigs we judged that he had come out
and got the brand, and when he spoke again it was from farther back in
the woods.
"You know," he said, "I don't like this any more than you do. I've got
forty-two mosquito bites on my left arm."
He waited, as if for a reply; but getting none he evidently retreated.
The sound of rustling leaves and crackling twigs grew fainter, fainter
still, died away altogether. We turned then with one accord and gazed
through the dark arches of the forest. A glowing star was retreating
there--a smouldering fire, that seemed to move slowly and with an
appearance of dejection.
It was the second time Aggie and I had seen fire thus carried through
the wood; but whereas about the kettle there had been a glow and
radiance that was almost triumphant, the brand we now watched seemed
smouldering, dejected, ashamed. Even Tish felt it.
"The wretch!" she exclaimed. "Daring to come here like that! No wonder
he's ashamed."
But Aggie, who is very romantic, sat staring after the distant torch.
"Mr. Wiggins suffered so from mosquitoes," she said softly.