er was either eating or drinking. Then he
spoke again, more thickly and drowsily.

"'Damn unpleasant that rope. Why don't you haul it up out of my way?'

"'It don't hurt you any,' said Creed.

"'Don't you wish it would?' said Turner, with drunken shrewdness. 'But I
don't like it. Haul it away.'

"'I will,' said Creed.

"There was a longer silence, and then there came an intermittent rasping
sound. A moment later Creed came suddenly from the barn. Ike fumbled
with a large rake, and made as though to hang it on its accustomed peg
near the barn door. Creed eyed him sharply. 'Get along to bed,' he
ordered, and Ike obeyed.

"That was a Saturday night. On Sunday morning Ike went to the barn later
than usual and hesitatingly. Even then he was first to enter. He found
the drunkard's body hanging here over the mow, just about where we are
sitting, stark and cold. It was a gruesome end to a miserable
home-coming."

My audience was quiet enough now. Miss Anstell and one or two others
giggled loudly, but it was obviously forced, and found no further echo.
The breeze which had sprung up some time before was producing strange
creakings and raspings in the old timbers, and the pulley-wheel far
above us clanked with a dismal repetitious sound, like the tolling of a
cracked bell.

I waited a moment, well satisfied with the effect, and then continued.

"The coroner's jury found it suicide, though some shook their heads
meaningly. Turner had apparently sobered up enough to stand, and, making
a simple loop around his neck by catching the rope through its own hook,
had then slid off the mow. The rope which went over the pulley-wheel up
there in the roof ran out through a window under the eaves, and was made
fast near the barn door outside, where anyone could haul on it. Creed
testified the knot was one he had tied many days before. Ike was a
timorous old man, with a wholesome fear of his employer, and he
supported the testimony and made no reference to his eavesdropping of
the previous evening, though he heard Creed swear before the jury that
he did not recognize the tramp he had fed and lodged. There were no
papers in Turner's pockets; only a few coins, and a marked pocket-knife
that gave the first clue to his identity.

"A few of the neighbors said that it was a fitting end, and that the
verdict was a just one. Nevertheless, whisperings began and increased.
People avoided Creed and the neighborhood. Rumors grew that the barn w