THE SCARECROW AND
OTHER STORIES
THE SCARECROW
"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.