The crowing of some foolish rooster, growing tired of waiting for the belated November daylight, fell upon the silence from one of the buildings near by.
Abner Beech rose to his feet with ponderous slowness, pushing the bedclothes aside with his boot, and stood beside Esther’s chair. He laid his big hand on her shoulder with a patriarchal gesture.
“Come now,” he said, gently, “you go back to bed, like a good girl, an’ get some sleep. It’ll be all right.”
The girl rose in turn, bearing her shoulder so that the fatherly hand might still remain upon it. “Truly?” she asked, with a new light upon her pale face.
“Yes—truly!” Abner replied, gravely nodding his head.
Esther took the hand from her shoulder, and shook it in both of hers. “Good-night again, then,” she said, and turned to go.
Suddenly there resounded the loud rapping of a stick on the barn-door, close by my head.
Abner squared his huge shoulders and threw a downright glance at the gun on the floor “Well?” he called out..
“Is my da’ater inside there?”
We all knew that thin, high-pitched, querulous voice. It was old “Jee”’ Hagadorn who was outside.