Nothing happened during the rest of the day. We went back, together and separately, several times during the daylight hours and during the early hours of the night. For a wonder, nobody had leaked anything to the newspapers, and for what it was worth, we had the show to ourselves.
"Perhaps tomorrow," Aunt Mattie said around midnight, as we left the field for the last time. "Perhaps they must rest."
"I could use some of that," I said with a yawn.
"Yes, Hapland," she agreed. "We must conserve our strength. Heaven knows what may be required of us on the morrow."
Did she feel something, too? It was so strong, how could she help it? And yet, the monster had not looked into her eye.
I didn't expect to sleep well, but I fooled myself. I was quite sure I hadn't more than closed my eyes when I was roused by another excited rapping on my bedroom door and again the butler rushed in without ceremony.
"Look, Master Hapland," he shouted in a near falsetto.
He pulled so hard on my drapes they swept back from my windows like a stage curtain—and I looked.
To the very limit of our grounds in the distance, but not beyond, the trees, the shrubs, the drives and walkways, the lawns and ponds, all were covered with a two foot thick blanket of glistening salt.
"And the monsters are gone," the butler was saying. "And I must go to your aunt."