obeyed no law but their own. It was darkly rumored, even, that there was blood on their hands,—the blood of an old gray farm-horse, abandoned to the road and corralled and captured in a time of famine, when portions of the prize, cooked over a cave fire, had been stoically and perseveringly chewed on by certain members of the ruthless band.
Yet, as the bake-shop window became refilled with chocolate mice in little cardboard boxes, and balls of pop-corn, and all-day suckers, and appetizing-looking bulls-eyes, and candies of various colors and kinds, Annie Eliza's devotion to Lonely became more and more demonstrative and more and more compelling. He even allowed himself to surrender to that soft invasion, forgetting the love he had consecrated to the mythical Little Eva of other days, forsaking his bluff manhood, and allowing certain new and quite pleasurable sensations to awaken in his languid breast. Roving and predatory bands of town boys passed up and down the streets before him, now almost unheeded. In far-off fields and lanes and alleys great deeds were being done, and strange adventures essayed; but
