Tod need not have talked about excited hopes. He was just three parts mad. Fancy his great strong hands shaking as he took the reins! The pony dashed off in a fright with the cut he gave it, and brought us cleverly against the post of the gate, breaking the near shaft. Over that, but for the delay, Tod would have been cool as an orange.
“The phaeton now, single horse,” he called out to Mackintosh.
“Yes, sir. Bob, or Blister?”
Tod stamped his foot in a passion. “As if it mattered! Blister; he is the more fiery of the two.”
“I must get the harness,” said Mackintosh. “It is in the yellow barn.”
Mackintosh went round on the run to gain the front barn; the harness, least used, was kept there, hung on the walls. Tod unharnessed the pony, left me to lead him to the stable, and went after the man. In his state of impatience and his strength, he could have done the work of ten men. He met Mackintosh coming out of the barn, without the harness, but with a white face. Since he saw the ghost’s light on Friday night the man had been scared at shadows.
“There’s sum’at in there, master,” said he, his teeth chattering.
“What?” roared Tod, in desperate anger.
“There is, master. It’s like a faint tapping.”
Tod dashed in, controlling his hands, lest they might take French leave and strike Luke for a coward. He was seeking the proper set of harness, when a knocking, faint and irregular, smote his ear. Tod turned to look, and thought it came from the staircase-door. He went forward and opened it.