The Argosy — page 54: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Five Mr. Fytions. AI awful—that never spoke or moved again. And there was blood upon the snow ; the blood of Hal Fytton. His body, like his father’s, was laid upon the state bed, and at midnight a finger tapped upon the casement, a face was pressed upon the glass, and a voice said : “ The Lourth Mr, Fytton.” Of all the brothers, there was now left but ‘‘ Baby Charles.” He was about eleven, and the executors under his brother’s will suggested that his mother’s first cousin, Mrs. Arnold, a widow, should occupy “The Grey Shadows,” with the object of being a mother to the boy until such a time as he went to college or came of age. Men, however, will one way and Fate another, and all the care and watchfulness bestowed on the delicate lad were powerless to help him against the deadly curse which hung over his family. The one passion that possessed the boy was hawking, and day after day he would wander out alone, despite the anxiety of Mrs. Arnold, with his hawk upon his wrist. When in the cold weather the wild ducks came down upon the low swamps in thousands, and many hundreds of acres of land were under water, more or less, the country round Grey Shadows was quite a falconer’s paradise. Early one morning in December, when the floods were just covered with a thin coating of ice, Baby Charles with his hawk upon his wrist went off to the lower meadows in search of wild-fowl. It was late in the afternoon when the first anxiety began to be felt about him, on account of his prolonged absence. ‘The country was scoured far and wide, but to no purpose. It is supposed that while wading in the floods he must unhappily have walked into a dyke, as it was not until the evening of the fourth day that Jack Badgington, the poacher, came in to say he had seen the poor lad’s body floating amongst the bullrushes on Long Pool Lake, and the hawk was still sitting on his breast. His body, like his father’s, was laid upon the state bed, and at midnight a finger tapped upon the casement, a face was pressed against the glass, and a voice said: “ The Fifth Mr. Fytton.” ‘“A good story, Mr. Sheppard,” said Willie. ‘‘A sort of thing to dream of, after a heavy supper.” Well, Willie,” said I, ‘‘it’s getting dark, and I think, as we have six miles to walk, we had better trudge.” Off we started, just as the sun was beginning to get low, and long quaint shadows fell across the green bridle-path, which, meandering round the hills, brought us out on the main road about two miles from home. We had nearly got to what was called the deep cutting, a place where the road ran between two high banks bordered with fir trees, when we heard a muttered exclamation, followed by a grievous panting and puffing. COMICHOOKS.C© mn