“I’d be afeared to sleep here without him,” Bess volunteered.
“Ay, ay.”
“He’s better ’n two men.”
“Ay?”
They looked at the dog, and some one bade her good-day. And one by one the little troop turned and trailed despondently from the house, Clyne with his chin sunk on his breast, Bishop in a brown study, the other men staring blankly before them. Half-way up the ascent to the road Clyne stopped and looked back. His face was troubled.
“I thought——” he began. And then he stopped and listened, frowning.
“What?”
“I don’t know.” He looked up. “You didn’t hear anything?”
Bishop and the men said that they had not heard anything. They listened. They all listened. And all said that they heard nothing.
“It was fancy, I suppose,” Clyne muttered, passing his hand over his eyes. And he shook his head as if to shake off some painful impression.