Thinking how good it was for the ferns, and
venturing remarks to Bart about them, which, however, fell on sleep-deaf
ears, I made sure that the pup was in his chosen place by my cot and
drifted away to shadow land, glad that something more substantial than
boughs covered me!
I do not know how long it was before I wakened, but the first sound that
formulated itself was the baying of Dave, the hound, from the well-house
porch, where he slept when his evening rambles kept him out until after
Amos Opie had gone to bed. Having freed his mind, Dave presently
stopped, but other nearer-by sounds made me again on the alert.
The rain, that was falling with increasing power, held one key; the drip
from the eaves and the irregular gush from a broken waterspout played
separate tunes. I am well used to the night-time bravado of mice, who
fight duels and sometimes pull shoes about, of the pranks of squirrels
and other little wood beasts about the floor, but the noise that made me
sit up in the cot and reach over until I could clutch Bart by the arm
belonged to neither of these. There was a swishing sound, as of water
being wrung from something and dropping on the floor, and then a human
exclamation, blended of a sigh, a wheeze, and a cough, at which the pup
wakened with a growl entirely out of proportion to his age and
inexperience.
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