The night he and his school companions had restored the little calf to its frantic mother, Andy had seen Graham in the window of his room in the old farmhouse.
Andy now looked up at the window of this room. It was open. A trellis ran up its side. The house was dark and silent. He scaled the trellis and rested a hand on the window sill.
"Mr. Graham," he called out softly. Then he repeated the call several times, gradually raising his voice.
There was a rustle of bed clothes, a droning mumble. Andy called again.
"What is it? who is there?" questioned Graham's tones.
"It's me," said Andy. "Don't be disturbed. Just listen for a minute, will you?"
"Eh! Is that Andy Wildwood?" exclaimed Graham.
"Yes," answered Andy.
A white-robbed figure came to the window and sat down in a chair there. Graham rubbed his eyes and stared wonderingly at the strange midnight visitor clinging to the window sill.
"Why, what's the trouble, Andy?" he questioned in a tone of surprise.