"
Emily nodded. "Of course, Auntie," she said, emphatically. "We couldn't
walk a mile and a half in a storm like this. Of course we must wait.
Where is the shed?"
Winnie S. led the way to the shed. It was a ramshackle affair, open
on one side. General Jackson, tethered to a rusty ring at the back,
whinnied a welcome.
The driver, holding the lantern aloft, looked about him. His two
passengers looked also.
"Well," observed Thankful, "this may have been a shed once, but it's
more like a sieve now. There's more leaks to the roof than there is
boards, enough sight. However, any port in a storm, and we've got the
storm, sartin. All right, Mister What's-your-name, we'll wait."
Winnie S. turned away. Then he turned back again.
"Maybe I'd better leave you the lantern," he said, doubtfully. "I
guess likely I could get along without it and--and 'twould make it more
sociable for you."
He put the lantern down on the earth floor beside them and strode off
into the dark. Mrs. Barnes called after him.
"Ain't there any way of gettin' into that house?" she asked. "It acts as
if 'twas goin' to storm hard as ever and this shed ain't the most--what
did you call it?--sociable place in creation, in spite of the lantern.
If we could only get inside that house--"
Winnie S. interrupted. They could not see him, but there was a queer
note in his voice.
"Get inside!" he repeated. "Get into THAT house this time of night!
Well--well, maybe you could, but I wouldn't do it, not for nothin'.
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