Her eyes looked haggard but they remained stoically dry. She shook her
head.

He turned to go and took a few steps toward the door. And she came and
laid her hand on his arm. It was as light and feathery as a dead leaf,
but he could feel the warmth through his sleeve.

"Don't," she said, "don't let anything get out if--if there's
anything should be kept quiet." She looked him earnestly in the eyes.
"I'll depend on you?"

He promised and ran lightly down the front steps. Behind him the front
door closed, ponderous and grave. And as he passed around the curve of
the driveway to the gate he looked back and the shadows of the old
house were stretching out toward him on the grass.

He had had a sudden idea. There in the front hall it had occurred to
him that there was one person at least who might know something. He
had recalled that last night spent in the upstairs ell bedroom, the
voices, the clatter of a car. Zeke was probably closer to his uncle
Buzz than any other living soul. And just as suddenly he had decided
that it would be time wasted to talk with his aunt Loraine--time that
could be well spent elsewhere. And so his departure had been
precipitate. And now as he hurried along the plank walk, beneath the
arching branches, with the world so fresh and green and hopeful about
him, he felt how incongruous everything was. Over beyond the hedge the
blackbirds were hopping about on the grass looking for worms, giving
occasional satisfied clucks. Across an intersecting road, on up ahead,
an old buggy passed, drawn by a jogging horse with hanging head. Like
the Mosby turnout--very. And that very morning he had been at his
desk, drugged, overwhelmed with the hopelessness of monotony.

He passed on to the other side of town, keeping to the back streets,
for he did not wish to meet any one or talk to any one. It was nearing
six o'clock as he approached the gate of Zeke Thompson's cabin, and
there was that golden glow in the sky which so often follows a spell
of dampness. It had rained the night before--the road looked dark and
cool--and about the western sky the clouds were hovering as if
undecided. But the sunlight streamed bravely through and all was fresh
and clean and cool.

The front door was open and as Joe passed through the gate he saw no
one. Softly he climbed the steps and passed over the threshold. The
room was empty, but an apron thrown carelessly over the back of a
rocking chair gave evidence of its havin