"Sometime," Trove thought, "his folly may bring confusion upon wise
heads."

XVII

An Event in the Rustic Museum

Sidney Trove sat talking a while with Miss Letitia. Miss S'mantha,
unable longer to bear the unusual strain of danger and publicity,
went away to bed soon after supper. Tunk Hosely came in with a
candle about nine.

"Wal, mister," said he, "you ready t' go t' bed?"

"I am," said Trove, and followed him to the cold hospitality of the
spare room, a place of peril but beautifully clean. There was a
neat rag carpet on the floor, immaculate tidies on the bureau and
wash table, and a spotless quilt of patchwork on the bed. But,
like the dungeon of mediaeval times, it was a place for sighs and
reflection, not for rest. Half an inch of frost on every
window-pane glistened in the dim light of the candle.

"As soon as they unlock my door, I'll come an' let ye out in the
mornin'," Tunk whispered.

"Are they going to lock me in?"

"Wouldn't wonder," said Tunk, soberly.

"What can ye 'spect from a couple o' dummed ol' maids like them?"

There was a note of long suffering in his half-whispered tone,

"Good night, mister," said he, with a look of dejection. "Orter
have a nightcap, er ye'll git hoar-frost on yer hair."

Trove was all a-shiver in the time it took him to undress, and his
breath came out of him in spreading shafts of steam. Sheets of
flannel and not less than half a dozen quilts and comfortables made
a cover, under which the heat of his own blood warmed his body. He
became uncomfortably aware of the presence of his head and face,
however. He could hear stealthy movements beyond the door, and
knew they were barricading it with furniture. Long before daylight
a hurried removal of the barricade awoke him. Then he heard a rap
at the door, and the excited voice of Tunk.

"Say, mister! come here quick," it called.

Sidney Trove leaped out of bed and into his trousers. He hurried
through the dark parlour, feeling his way around a clump of chairs
and stumbling over a sofa. The two old maids were at the kitchen
door, both dressed, one holding a lighted candle. Tunk Hosely
stood by the door, buttoning suspenders with one hand and holding a
musket in the other. They were shivering and pale. The room was
now cold.

"Hear that!" Tunk whispered, turning to the teacher.

They all listened, hearing a low, weird cry outside the door.

"Soun's t' me like a raccoon," Miss S'mantha