He opened his eyes wide and straightened himself with a gasp. His heart was going at a terrific rate, his nerves were all twanging, and for a second or two he felt numb with fear. Then he saw the afternoon sunlight along the edge of the forest and remembered. He laughed with relief.
“This is better,” he said to the black dog, who sat on the edge of the porch and faced him with an expression of undiminished interest and expectancy. “Yes, a great deal better, you black pup. Better for the nerves and better for everything—and you can take a flight-commander’s word for it, Pup.”
So great was his relief at awakening from his nightmares to those peaceful and rustic surroundings that, for several minutes, his mood and manner of whimsical complaint were forgotten. He surveyed the yard, with its cord wood, chips and saw-horse; and the path leading into the brown and green shades of the forest; and the dog wagging its tail in front of him, with the keenest satisfaction. His appreciative glance lowered to the floor between his feet and the dog.
“What’s this!” he exclaimed, staring. “Where’d it come from?”
He stooped forward and picked up a piece of folded white paper. It was written on with pencil, in a round hand, as follows:—
“Sir; My Grandfather refuses to return for he will not believe that you are not a devil. He is not an educated man, and has not been more than forty miles from here in the last thirty years. He has always believed in the Devil, but never in aëroplanes or anything of that kind, although I have shown him pictures of them. I am glad you were not killed and sorry you broke your aëroplane. You did not find the calves, which are in a pen at the far end of the cow-stable. I fed them a few minutes ago. The cows do not pasture with the horses, as Jess kicks cows—so I let them out. The bars in the brush-fence are just beyond the brook among the alders. I shall bring my grandfather back to the house as soon as he recovers from his foolish fright; but how soon that will be I cannot state definitely, for he is a very stubborn old man. I have left him asleep in the woods. He made me promise not to speak to you.
Yours very truly,
Catherine MacKim.”
Akerley read with astonished haste, studied the signature, then re-read the letter slowly from the beginning. This done, he raised his head and gazed searchingly around him.
He entered the house and looked at the clock on the chimney-piece. It pointed to four; and he corrected the watch on his wrist by it. Again he read the note before putting it carefully away in his pocket-book. He stood for some time in the center of the room, deep in thought, fingering his stubbly chin. Then he entered the bedroom.