"She just took away about a fourth of the
moths. Probably had the Comstock girl getting them for her. Heard they
were together. Likely she'll get the rest to-morrow. Ain't picking
gettin' bare these days?"
"Well, I should say so," said the second man, turning back in disgust.
"Coming home, now?"
"No, I am going down this way," answered Pete, for his eyes caught the
gleam from the window of the Comstock cabin, and he had a desire to
learn why Elnora's attic was lighted at that hour.
He slouched down the road, occasionally feeling the size of the roll he
had not taken time to count.
The attic was too long, the light too near the other end, and the cabin
stood much too far back from the road. He could see nothing although
he climbed the fence and walked back opposite the window. He knew Mrs.
Comstock was probably awake, and that she sometimes went to the swamp
behind her home at night. At times a cry went up from that locality that
paralyzed any one near, or sent them fleeing as if for life. He did not
care to cross behind the cabin. He returned to the road, passed, and
again climbed the fence. Opposite the west window he could see Elnora.
She sat before a small table reading from a book between two candles.
Her hair fell in a bright sheen around her, and with one hand she
lightly shook, and tossed it as she studied. The man stood out in the
night and watched.
For a long time a leaf turned at intervals and the hair-drying went on.
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