anything I'm
strong for. I can't see the percentage in starin' out at nothing at all
but black space and guessin' where the driveway is or what them dark
streaks are. Then, there's so many weird sounds I can't account for.

"What's all that jinglin' going on?" I asks the other evenin'. "Sounds
like a squad of junkmen comin' up the pike."

"Silly!" says Vee. "Frogs, of course."

"Oh!" says I.

Then I listens some more, until something else breaks loose. It's sort
of a cross between the dyin' moan of a gyastacutus and the whine of a
subway express roundin' a sharp curve.

"For the love of Pete," I breaks out, "what do you call that?"

Vee chuckles. "Didn't you see the calf up at Mr. Robert's?" she asks.
"Well, that's the old cow calling to him."

"If she feels as bad as that," says I, "I wish she'd wait until mornin'
to express herself. That's the most doleful sound I ever heard. Come on;
let's go in while you tinkle out something lively and cheerin' on the
piano."

I never thought I was one of the timid kind, either. Course, I'm no
Carnegie hero, or anything like that; but I've always managed to get
along in the city without developin' a case of nerves. Out here, though,
it's different. Two or three evenin's now I've felt almost jumpy, just
over nothing at all, it seems.

Maybe that's why I didn't show up any better, here the other night, when
Vee rings in this silent alarm on me. I was certainly poundin' my ear
industrious when gradually I gets the idea that someone is shakin' me by
the shoulders. It's Vee.

"Torchy," she whispers husky. "Get up."

"Eh?" says I, pryin' my eyes open reluctant. "Get up? Wha-wha' for?"

"Oh, don't be stupid about it," says she. "I've been trying to rouse you
for five minutes. Please get up and come to the window."

"Nothing doing," says I snugglin' into the pillow again. "I--I'm busy."

"But you must," says she. "Listen. I think someone is prowling around
the house."

"Let 'em ramble, then," says I. "What do we care?"

"But suppose it's a--a burglar?" she whispers.

I'll admit that gives me a goose-fleshy feelin' down the spine. It's
such a disturbin' word to have sprung on you in the middle of the night.

"Let's not suppose anything of the sort," says I.

"But I'm sure I saw someone just now, when I got up to fix the shade,"
insists Vee. "Someone who stepped out into the moonlight right there,
between the shadows of those two trees. Then he disappeared out that
wa