e, a tree-toad called and called, with
plaintive iteration, for rain. "Ye'll git it, bubby," Con addressed
the creature, as he stood in the cornfield--a great yellow
stretch--pulling fodder, and binding the long pliant blades into
bundles. The clouds still thickened; the heat grew oppressive; the
long rows of the corn were motionless, save the rustling of the blades
as Hite tore them from the stalk. Even his mother's spinning-wheel,
wont to briskly whir through the long afternoons, from the window of
the little cabin on the rise, grew silent, and his father dozed
beneath the gourd vines on the porch.

The sun went down at last, and the gray day imperceptibly merged into
the gray dusk. Then came the lingering darkness, with a flicker of
fireflies and broad wan flares of heat lightning. Con woke once in the
night to hear the rain on the roof. The wind was blaring near at hand.
In its large, free measures, like some deliberate adagio, there was
naught of menace; but when he slept again, and awoke to hear its voice
anew, his heart was plunging with sudden fright. A human utterance was
in its midst,--a human voice calling his name through the gusty night
and the sibilant rush of the rain from the eaves. He listened for a
moment at the roof-room window. He recognized with a certain relief
the tones of the constable of the district. He opened the shutter.

A new day was near to breaking. He saw the wan sky above the periphery
of dense dark woods about the clearing. A brown dusk obscured the
familiar landmarks, but beneath a gnarled old apple-tree by the gate
several men were dimly suggested, and another, more distinct, by the
wood-pile, was in the act of gathering a handful of chips to throw at
the shutter again. He desisted as he marked the face at the window.

"Kem down," he said gruffly, clearing his throat in embarrassment.
"Kem down, Constant. No use roustin' out the old folks."

"What do you want?" asked Hite in a low voice, his heart seeming to
stand still in suspense.

The constable hesitated. The cold rain dashed into Hite's face. The
rail fences, in zigzag lines, were coming into view. A mist was
floating white against the dark densities of the woods. He heard the
water splashing from the eaves heavily into the gullies below, and
then the constable once more raucously cleared his throat.

"Thar's a man," he drawled, "a stranger hyarabouts, killed yestiddy in
the bridle-path. The cor'ner hev kem, an' he 'lows ye