"Something's happened!"
Whoever made that sound must have been dreadfully unhappy about something; they all felt sure of that—and there was a grand rush to the front door and the windows.
"Sakes alive!"
"What can it be?"
"Mrs. Merritt, there's somethin' awful a-stickin' on the top of one o' your gate posts."
So there was, indeed. Something very large and round, and that looked very dark in spite of strange, mysterious rays of light that crept out of it here and there.
The whole gate post looked like a wooden man without any arms, but with more head than would have answered for half a dozen such men.
Nobody in the house heard Prop Corning whisper at that moment across the front-door walk, "Keep down, Clint, keep under the bushes. We're all ready. Pull out his chin." And then he added, in a lower whisper, "Ain't I glad I brought along my kite-string?—we've used it 'most all up, but we can show 'em that King."
One of the ladies, a second later, gave a little scream, and exclaimed, "Look at it now!—it's on fire."
"Dear me!" added another, "it's got a mouth."