The Scarecrow, and Other Stories

NEW YORK E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 681 FIFTH AVENUE
Copyright, 1918, BY E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
All Rights Reserved
Printed in the United States of America
Ben—
The woman stood in the doorway of the ramshackle, tumble-down shanty. Her hands were cupped at her mouth. The wind blew loose, whitish blond wisps of hair around her face and slashed the faded blue dress into the uncorseted bulk of her body.
Benny—oh, Benny—
Her call echoed through the still evening.
Her eyes staring straight before her down the slope in front of the house caught sight of something blue and antiquatedly military standing waist deep and rigid in the corn field.
That ole scarecrow, she muttered to herself, that there old scarecrow with that there ole uniform onto him, too!
The sun was going slowly just beyond the farthest hill. The unreal light of the skies' reflected colors held over the yellow, waving tips of the corn field.
Benny—, she called again. Oh—Benny!