The sow was grunting and squealing in her stye, Jonas hailed the sound; there was nothing alarming in that. Had all been still in and about the house, there might have come from that undefined shadow in the comer a voice, a groan, a sigh—he knew not what. With an exclamation of relief he saw the flash of Sally Rocliffe's lantern pass the window.
Next moment she stood in the doorway.
"Where are you, Jonas?"
"I am here. Hold up the lantern, Sarah. What's that in the corner there, movin'?"
"Where, Jonas?"
"There—you are almost touchin it. Turn the light."
"That," said his sister; "why don'ty know your own old oilcloth overcoat as was father's, don'ty know that when you see it?"
"I didn't see it, but indistinct like," answered Jonas.
His courage, his strength, his insolence were gone out of him.
"Now, what's up?" asked Sarah. "How have you been hurted?"