Except for a prodigious yawn which came from the Girl there was an ominous quiet hanging over the place that chilled the man. Sudden sounds startled him, and he found it impossible to make any progress with his preparations for the night. He was about to make some remark, however, when to his well-attuned ears there came the sound of approaching footsteps. In an instant he was standing in the parting made by the curtains, his face eager, animated, tense.
“What’s that?” he whispered.
“That’s snow slidin’,” the Girl informed him without the slightest trace of anxiety in her voice.
“God bless you, Girl,” he murmured, and retreated back of the curtains. It was only an instant before he was back again with: “Why, there is something out there—sounded like people calling,” he again whispered.
“That’s only the wind,” she said, adding as she drew her robe tightly about her: “Gettin’ cold, ain’t it?”
But, notwithstanding her assurances, Johnson did not feel secure, and it was with many misgivings that he now directed his footsteps towards the bed behind the curtains.
“Good-night!” he said uneasily.
“Good-night!” unconsciously returned the Girl in the same tone.
Taking off her slippers the Girl now put on a pair of moccasins and quietly went over to her bed, where she knelt down and made a silent prayer.
“Good-night!” presently came from a little voice in the rug.