As the door closed his mother moved uneasily in her sleep, and awoke with the sudden consciousness that something uncanny had happened. She looked from a window and saw, by the light of a low-lying moon, that David had gone out.
Without awakening her husband she protected herself with needful clothing, and, wrapped about in one of the curious plaid blankets of mingled blue and white, adorned with white fringe, that are yet to be found in the land, she followed into the night.
Save for the sleepy tinkle of the water over the stones in the Pochaug River, and an occasional cry of a night-bird still lingering by the sea, the air was very still.
With light tread across the bridge she ran a little way, and then ventured a timid cry of her own into the night:
“David! David!”
Now David Bushnell hoped to escape without awakening his mother. He was lingering near, to learn whether his going had disturbed anyone, and he was quite prepared for the call.
Turning back to meet her he thought: “What a mother mine is.” And he said, “Well, mother, what is it? I was afraid I might disturb you.”
“O David!” was all that she could utter in response.
“And so you are troubled about me, are you? I’m only going to chase the will-o’-the-wisp a little while, and I could not do it, you know, until moon-down.”