ed towards the boy.

"He's afraid, too, when the sun goes down."

For a time Tolliver listened to the wind, which assaulted the frame
house with the furious voices of witches demanding admittance.

"It's that----" he commenced.

She cut him short, almost angrily.

"It isn't that with me," she whispered.

He lifted the tin pail that contained a small bottle of coffee and some
sandwiches. He started for the door, but she ran after him, dragging at
his arm.

"Don't go! I'm afraid!"

The child was quiet now, staring at them with round, reflective eyes.

"Joe," Tolliver said gently, "will be sore if I don't relieve him on
time."

She pressed her head against his coat and clung tighter. He closed his
eyes.

"You're afraid of Joe," he said wearily.

Without looking up, she nodded. Her voice was muffled.

"He came last night after you relieved him at the tower. He knocked, and
I wouldn't let him in. It made him mad. He swore. He threatened. He said
he'd come back. He said he'd show us we couldn't kick him out of the
house just because he couldn't help liking me. We never ought to have
let him board here at all."

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I was afraid you'd be fighting each other in the tower; and it didn't
seem so bad until dark came on. Why didn't you complain to the railroad
when--when he tried to kiss me the other night?"

"I thought that was finished," Tolliver answered slowly, "when I kicked
him out, when I told him I'd punish him if he bothered you again. And
I--I was a little ashamed to complain to the superintendent about that.
Don't you worry about Joe, Sally, I'll talk to him now, before I let him
out of the tower. He's due to relieve me again at midnight, and I'll be
home then."

He put on his great coat. He pulled his cap over his ears. The child
spoke in a high, apprehensive voice.

"Don't go away, papa."

He stared at the child, considering.

"Put his things on, Sally," he directed at last.

"What for?"

"I'll send him back from the tower with something that will make you
feel easier."

Her eyes brightened.

"Isn't that against the rules?"

"Guess I can afford to break one for a change," he said. "I'm not likely
to need it myself to-night. Come, Sonny."

The child shrank in the corner, his pudgy hands raised defensively.

"It's only a little ways, and Sonny can run home fast," his mother
coaxed.

Against his ineffective reluctance she put on his coat and hat. Tolliv