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"Oh, hadn't he then! Well, who up and deliberately stole his horse, I'd like to know?" Mrs. Wilson held her breath waiting for the answer.,

Anson's face reddened. "You needn't get funny!" he cried, angrily. "Any feller's liable to black an eye runnin' agin a tree, in the dark.",

The sehoolhouse stood with a wide sloping green before it and a tangle of second growth forest behind it. It was not an old building, but had the appearance of senile old age. Its coat of cheap terra-cotta paint had cracked into many wrinkles; its windows looked dully out like the lustreless eyes of an old, old man. The ante-room roof had been blown off by a winter's gale and replaced inaccurately, so that it set awry, jaunty and defiant, challenging the world. Its door hung on one hinge, leaning sleepily against a knife-scarred wall. A rail fence ran about the yard which was filled to choking with a rank growth of smart-weed. In one corner of the yard was a well with a faded blue pump holding the faded red arm of a handle toward the skies, as though evoking high heaven to bear witness that it was never intended to lead such a lonely and useless existence.,

"Ol' Rabbit-foot charm," he said, aloud. "I jest might need you bad today." Then he turned and walked quickly across the fallow toward the causeway.

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"That Croaker's a witch? Of course he's a witch, an' so's Ringdo. They both know exactly what you're thinkin', an' what you're doin'. Listen, you," as Anse shivered. "Didn't you dream, jest t'other night, that Croaker was bendin' over you to peck your eyes out?",

"I'd call it bein' kind to dumb animals," spoke up Wilson, his eyes meeting the angry ones of his wife.,

"It don't seem right to wake boys up just to give 'em a whalin', Mary," he protested. "My Ma used to wake me up sometimes, but never to whale me. I'd rather remember—",

Tonight, as Caleb sat outside on the bench waiting for the first evening customers to arrive, he reviewed the pleasant years of his life in this restful spot and was satisfied. Suddenly he sat erect. From the edge of a walnut grove on the far side of the road came a low warble, sweet as the song of a wild bird, but with a minor note of sadness in its lilting.