"Goin' to paint y'r new barn?" inquired the merchant, with friendly
interest.

Uncle Ethan turned with guilty sharpness; but the merchant's face was
grave and kindly.

"Yes, I thought I'd touch it up a little--don't cost much."

"It pays--always," the merchant said emphatically.

"Will it--stick jest as well put on evenings?" inquired Uncle Ethan,
hesitatingly.

"Yes--won't make any difference. Why? Ain't goin' to have"----

"Waal,--I kind o' thought I'd do it odd times night an' mornin.'--kind
o' odd times"----

He seemed oddly confused about it, and the merchant looked after him
anxiously as he drove away.

After supper that night he went out to the barn, and Mrs. Ripley heard
him sawing and hammering. Then the noise ceased, and he came in and sat
down in his usual place.

"What y' ben makin'?" she inquired. Tewksbury had gone to bed. She sat
darning a stocking.

"I jest thought I'd git the stagin' ready f'r paintin'," he said,
evasively.

"Waal! I'll be glad when it's covered up." When she got ready for bed,
he was still seated in his chair, and after she had dozed off two or
three times she began to wonder why he didn't come. When the clock
struck ten, and she realized that he had not stirred, she began to get
impatient. "Come, are y' goin' to sit there all night?" There was no
reply. She rose up in bed and looked about the room. The broad moon
flooded it with light, so that she could see he was not asleep in his
chair, as she had supposed. There was something ominous in his
disappearance.

"Ethan! Ethan Ripley, where are yeh?" There was no reply to her sharp
call. She rose and distractedly looked about among the furniture, as if
he might somehow be a cat and be hiding in a corner somewhere. Then she
went upstairs where the boy slept, her hard little heels making a
curious _tunking_ noise on the bare boards. The moon fell across the
sleeping boy like a robe of silver. He was alone.

She began to be alarmed. Her eyes widened in fear. All sorts of vague
horrors sprang unbidden into her brain. She still had the mist of sleep
in her brain.

She hurried down the stairs and out into the fragrant night. The
katydids were singing in infinite peace under the solemn splendor of the
moon. The cattle sniffed and sighed, jangling their bells now and then,
and the chickens in the coops stirred uneasily as if overheated. The old
woman stood there in her bare feet and long nightgown, horror-stricken.
The ghastly