And the result was that, after standing painfully still for about ten minutes, during which Prince's significant sniffs and growls had thrice driven him to the very verge of disclosure, he was left unmolested in the dark old closet. He opened the door; but the shed seemed darker yet. No loving cat or friendly dog was there to cheer or to betray. Nothing but thick, black darkness. Was it possible that the moon was still shining outside?
He wondered if the boys were having a good time. He would open the door and go to them as soon as he dared. But while he was thinking and wondering, waiting until he was sure his father and mother were asleep again, the old clock rang out the hour of twelve. Midnight! It was of no use to go then; the boys would be gone.
And so Bert crept up stairs to his room, cross and dissatisfied, feeling that the fates were against him.
He was late to breakfast the next morning. His mother laughingly inquired if the weight of his bedclothes had affected his hearing.
"Yes'm—no'm. I mean—I guess not," he replied absently.
It was a rainy morning, and the weather was disagreeably warm. After breakfast Bert came into the shed, and watched his father as he mended an old harness.
"What sort of boy is that Ned Sellars?" inquired his father at length.
Bert started.