It was something out of the common. It was turning labor into
fantastic tricks.
They had an excellent supper, too, and after dusk the clothes stood
in glintly array on the line, the camp-fire shone ruddy in a place
where its smoke could not offend them, and they were really like
white stones encircling an unusual day.
But when Robert awoke in the night they gave him a pang of fright,
and he was sorry his grandma had decided to let them bleach in the
dew of the June woods. From his bed in the carriage he could see both
the road and the lines of clothes. A horseman came along the road and
halted. He was not attracted by the camp-fire, because that had died
to ashes. He probably would not have heard the horses stamp in their
sleep, for his own horse's feet made a noise. And the wagon cover was
hid by foliage. But woods and sight were not dark enough to keep the
glint of the washing out of his eyes. Robert saw this rider dismount
and heard him walking cautiously into their camp.
CHAPTER XXVII.
A NIGHT PICTURE OF HOME.
Here at last was the robber. After you have given over expecting a
robber, and even feel that you can do without him, to find him
stealing up in the night when you are camped in a lonely place and
not near enough either tent or wagon to wake the other sleepers for
reinforcements, is trying to the nerves.
Pages:
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220