“Oh, look! Look!” broke in Beader. “There, coming down that biggest stalk. It’s Bounder, isn’t it? Why, of course it’s Bounder! Who but he could do such a thing. See! He’s bringing down a whole head at one time and I’ll warrant there isn’t a lean grain in all of it. I must speak to him.”
Off he sprang and in two jumps had reached the side of the one called Bounder. Up went one end of the head to his shoulder and then, amid the cheers of the others, the red-coated dragoon and the good-natured Bounder carried the prize to the feet of the sackers. Of course there was visiting and more or less handshaking that might have kept up even longer than it did had not Nibbler come up just then and ordered everybody back to their various tasks.
“Fine folks, those Fielders, fine folks,” vowed Beader, as he joined Dan a half-minute after. “I do hope you’ll have time to get over to Stubbleton to-morrow. They’d not be able to do enough for you.”
“Wha—what did you say,” asked Dan, suddenly lifting his head. “Please, do forgive me—I really believe I was nodding!”
“And no wonder!” cried Beader. “We’ve already visited well into the morning. But what a night it is! And what a moon! I say, it’s really too nice to sleep indoors even if we had a roof that would cover you. So what do you say if we both make our beds in the corn patch that lies just across from this field?”
“Nothing would suit me better,” declared Dan. So he and Beader set out for the patch.
“Here’s just the place for me,” said the mouse as he curled himself up at the foot of a stalk.
“While this space to the left must have been just measured for me,” echoed Dan.
“So, then, good night,” answered Beader. “And mind you, just sleep as long as you like for I assure you you’ll not be disturbed.”
But, though Dan had nodded while watching the Fielders, the walk to the corn patch had roused him again. As he lay there looking out through the leaves into the face of the moon he was reminded of the time when he had gone to sleep with his head on Gray Ears’ great trunk. The night was quite as still as the one he had passed in the depths of the woods. Yet, just as there had then been the song of the cricket so now was there a sound to accompany his thoughts. He had all but forgotten it while attending the harvest bee. But now he heard it more distinctly than ever. Whether it came from the south or the north, or came from the west or the east he could not be sure. Perhaps it was wafted on breezes that swung over the hills. But, from no matter whence, the sound floated toward him: “Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.”