Trying to gain hope from this decision, he knelt at the side of his bed to say his prayers, which he never omitted. His petition was longer than usual and I need not tell you what its chief if not its whole burden was.
Despite the depressing weight upon his spirits, Jim fell asleep and remained so for several hours, though his slumber was tortured by dreams of his knife. Sometimes it was tiny as a pin and then bigger than himself, but it always slipped from his grasp when he reached out to seize it.
Suddenly he awoke. It took a minute or two to recall his situation, but soon the startling truth came back to him. He had lost his knife, and, remembering his resolve before going to sleep, he bounded out of bed, certain that day not only had dawned but that it had been light for some time. He soon discovered, however, that what he took for the glow of the rising sun came from the moon, whose vivid illumination made the mistake natural.
“I never seen it so bright,” he said, stepping to the window and peering out.
And then as if by inspiration he whispered:
“It’s the right time to hunt for my knife.”
He did not know what time it was nor did he care to know. There was so much moongleam in his room that he easily dressed without any artificial light. Then, too, the night was mild and his covering scanty. Shirt and trousers were his only garments. He left his straw hat where he had “hung” it on the floor in one corner beside his shoes and stockings. The chief cause for now going barefoot was that his steps would be lighter, though as a rule he saved his shoes for Sunday and his trips to and from the store.
He knew his father was a light sleeper, and if awakened would probably forbid him to go out before morning. So Jim opened his bedroom door so softly that not the slightest noise was caused. He went down the stairs as if he were a real burglar in rubber shoes. He stopped several times with a faster beating heart, for although he had never known the steps to squeak before they now did so with such loudness that he was sure his father heard him. But the snoring continued unbroken and Jim reached the door, where he stealthily slid back the bolt and reversed the key, without causing any betraying sound.
This side of the house was in shadow, and he stood for a minute or two on the small, covered porch looking out upon the highway or main street. Not a soul was in sight, nor did he see a twinkle of light from any of the windows. It cannot be said that Jim felt any fear, nor did he reflect upon the risk caused by leaving the door unlocked behind him. He was thinking only of that loved knife.
He had walked to and from the store so many times that he knew every step taken earlier in the evening. It was impossible to go wrong, and he was quite confident of finding the knife unless the brilliant moonlight had disclosed it to some late passerby.