"Minnie, Minnie! Like long white gowns and cowls crossing the fence."
Helen released her wrist, and put both hands on Minnie's cheeks, forcing
her around to face the pane. "You must look--you must look," she cried.
"They wouldn't do it, they wouldn't--it isn't!" Minnie cried. "They
couldn't come in the storm. They wouldn't do it in the pouring rain!"
"Yes! Such things would mind the rain!" She burst into hysterical
laughter, and Minnie, almost as unnerved, caught her about the waist.
"They would mind the rain. They would fear a storm! Ha, ha, ha! Yes--yes!
And I let him go--I let him go!"
Pressing close together, shuddering, clasping each other's waists, the two
girls peered out at the flickering landscape.
"Look!"
Up from the distant fence that bordered the northern side of Jones's
field, a pale, pelted, flapping thing reared itself, poised, and seemed,
just as the blackness came again, to drop to the ground.
"Did you see?"
But Minnie had thrown herself into a chair with a laugh of wild relief.
"My darling girl!" she cried. "Not a line of white things--just one--Mr.
Jones's old scarecrow! And we saw it blown down!"
"No, no, no! I saw the others; they were in the field beyond. I saw them!
When I looked the first time they were nearly all on the fence. This time
we saw the last man crossing. Ah! I let him go alone!"
Minnie sprang up and enfolded her. "No; you dear, imagining child, you're
upset and nervous--that's all the matter in the world. Don't worry; don't,
child, it's all right. Mr. Harkless is home and safe in bed long ago. I
know that old scarecrow on the fence like a book; you're so unstrung you
fancied the rest. He's all right; don't you bother, dear."
The big, motherly girl took her companion in her arms and rocked her back
and forth soothingly, and petted and reassured her, and then cried a
little with her, as a good-hearted girl always will with a friend. Then
she left her for the night with many a cheering word and tender caress.
"Get to sleep, dear," she called through the door when she had closed it
behind her. "You must, if you have to go in the morning--it just breaks my
heart. I don't know how we'll bear it without you. Father will miss you
almost as much as I will. Good-night. Don't bother about that old white
scarecrow. That's all it was. Good-night, dear, good-night."
"Good-night, dear," answered a plaintive little voice. Helen's hot cheek
pressed the pillow and tossed from side to side. By and by she turned the
pillow over; it had grown wet. The wind blew about the eaves and blew
itself out; she hardly heard it. Sleep would not come. She got up and
laved her burning eyes. Then she sat by the window. The storm's strength
was spent at last; the rain grew lighter and lighter, until there was but
the sound of running water and the drip, drip on the tin roof of the
porch. Only the thunder rumbling in the distance marked the storm's
course; the chariots of the gods rolling further and further away, till
they finally ceased to be heard altogether. The clouds parted
majestically, and then, between great curtains of mist, the day-star was
seen shining in the east.