“But it won’t,” Skippy said soothingly. “My aunt always says dreams are always opposite.”
Timmy had got hold of himself somewhat, and valiantly tried to forget his dream. “Yep,” he agreed, “I guess that’s right. Mebbe it was the heat an’ my stomach. I never could eat right fore goin’ to bed without dreamin’ terrible things. But I never dreamed nothin’ bad’s that, that’s all.” He laughed nervously. “Aw, I’ll forget it!”
Skippy wondered if he really would. Somehow he had the feeling that he wouldn’t forget it—not ever!
CHAPTER XIII
THE EVERGREEN TREE
The remainder of the night was a torment. Toward dawn Skippy dozed occasionally only to awaken each time with a start to find himself trembling and expectant. What he might hear or see he could not imagine, but he watched with relief the murky light of the new day seeping in through the chinks of the shutter and routing the dismal gloom that kept him in breathless suspense.
The light did no more than seep in, however, for the storm left in its wake gray, sullen skies and air that was warm and still. Frost went downstairs about six o’clock—Skippy had already learned to distinguish his lighter, hurried step from Devlin’s heavy tread. Then, after a moment, he heard the man at the barn, and soon the low hum of the car was audible as he backed it out and around the house.
Silence reigned in the dismal place for another hour or so and then Skippy heard Devlin moving about in his room. When the man walked hurriedly downstairs, Nickie awoke, wild-eyed and staring.
“Who—what’s that?” he whispered hoarsely.
“Just Devlin,” Skippy answered. “What’s the matter—you ain’t been dreamin’ like Timmy?”
Nickie ran his fingers through his straight black hair as he sat up. “I don’t know—maybe so. I just get scared when I hear the least little sound in this joint. Me, that’s never been scared of nothin’—hah!”