Near midnight the foresticks in the fireplace broke and fell, and the men went to their rooms.
“Thee will sleep in the cockloft,” said Aunt Eunice to Mordecai, “but before thee goes up let me sew some buttons on thy trousers for the gallows [galluses]. Stand up by me; I have some stout thread for the purpose.”
Mordecai took off his jacket and loosened his belt, and Aunt Eunice sewed on the buttons as he stood beside her. She then attached the gallows to the back buttons, leaving them otherwise free for him to button on in front in the morning.
“See here, Mordecai,” she said. “These are no common gallows. I’ve put buckles on them—buckles that my grandfather wore in the Indian wars. These are wonderful buckles. If the gallows are too long, thee can h’ist them up, so; if they are then too short, thee can let them out again, so.”
Now, when Mordecai saw that the gallows had no connection with hanging he felt happy, and he went up to the cockloft, candle in hand.
“Be careful and not let the buckles drag upon the floor, Mordecai,” were the good woman’s last words as she saw the boy disappear with the light, holding the wonderful suspenders in his hand.
Mordecai could not sleep. The cockloft did not look right, did not fulfil his moral ideal. The great moon rose over the hills and flooded the valley with white light. He began to think of the three acted lies of which he had been a part. The cow that had given “fifteen,” “sixteen,” “seventeen,” “eighteen” quarts of milk a day had been sold—what if the purchaser should commit suicide?
At midnight he heard a cry out in the field.
“Hello! that steer is out and is at the corn-stack!”
The voice was that of a drover. Mordecai felt that he should get up and go to the corn-stack and help impound the steer.