Keith’s darting eyes made out a long box of white lime fuming and simmering with a long something half buried in it.
He watched his father in a stupor of bewilderment while he cleared a sort of oven in the wall. He had never seen such a look on his father’s face. At length he took the lamp and set it in another place, and bent to draw that something from the quicklime box.
As he hoisted it awkwardly out of the shadow into the light, Keith saw that it was Jud Lasher.
He seemed to be asleep, for he hung all limp in white clothes and he made no sound.
Keith saw his father carry the gaunt, gangling form to the chimney and stuff it into the hollow. It would not fit, and he began frantically thrusting at the arms and legs to crowd them in. The head rolled across the edge and Keith caught sight of the face.
Jud was not asleep! He was——
The boy pitched forward; slid and thudded down the cellar stairs head first.
He fell and fell. The next thing he knew was the feel of his bed about him. His head was on his pillow. The covers tucked under his chin.
His head was swimming and there was a big throbbing lump on his forehead. As he put his hand to its ache, his eyes made out a tall figure standing by him.
“That you, Papa?”