"What you doing!" he snarled. "Getting the warm chaff all away from my back!"
John thrust out a hand and grasped what he supposed to be Willis's hair.
"Where is your old head, anyway!" he exclaimed. "Is that it? Your mouth isn't with it, is it?" Willis did not reply; he was falling asleep again.
"Say, Willis, has your mouth got strayed away from your head?" said
John.
"Is that your head?" he exclaimed a moment after, speaking to me.
"Keep still, can't you?" I growled. "You've been in the middle all night! I want to go to sleep now."
"Well, by gummy, it isn't his head either!" cried John. "Whose head is that over there?"
"You lie down, John," said Willis.
"But there's somebody else here!" cried John, with a queer note in his voice; and with that, he scrambled back over us both. The space was all too narrow for such a maneuvre, and his knees felt hard. "Now look here," said Willis. "You quit that!"
But John was climbing through the hole to the barn floor above. "You must get out of there!" he cried. "There is something down there."