“I think I 'll go up to bed,” he told them. “My ride and running around at Darley has made me very tired. Father, get all your papers together and let's take an early start in the morning.”
But despite his feeling of weariness, Alan found he could not sleep. The bright moonlight, streaming in at his window, seemed a disturbing element. About eleven o'clock he heard some one turning the windlass at the well, and later the clatter of falling utensils in the kitchen, and the dead thump of a heavy tread below. He knew then that his father was up, and, like himself, unable to sleep. Presently Mrs. Bishop slipped into his room.
“Are you awake, son?” She spoke in a whisper that she might not disturb him if he were asleep.
He laughed. “I haven't closed my eyes; it seems to me I have gone over my conversation with Miller a thousand times.”
“I've give up tryin',” she told him, with a gratified little laugh. “I think I could, though, if your pa would 'a' kept still. He's in the kitchen now makin' him a cup o' strong coffee. He's been over them papers ever since you come up-stairs. Alan, I'm actually afeerd he couldn't stand it if that man didn't put up the money.”
“It would go hard with him,” said Alan. “Has Uncle Ab gone to sleep?”
“No; he's settin' in the door o' his room chawin' tobacco; he lays the blame on yore pa. I don't think I ever saw him so irritated before. But nobody ain't to blame but hisse'f. He's jest excited like the rest of us. I've seed 'im lie an' snore with a bigger noise goin' on around 'im 'an yore pa is a-makin'.”