The glow in the west; the pageant of clouds, whose fiery edges had grown dimmer; the immensity of the overarching sky, still turquoise-colored--all these, together with the disappearance of the familiar landscape, conspired to make the two outlaws under the apple tree feel rather diminutive. The swallows had ceased their flight and gone to bed. Two or three robins screamed excitedly for a while, and darted in apparent hurry from tree to tree. Finally they became quiet, except for an occasional outburst of twittering. Two bats began to flutter about, with their high, thin, squeaking cries like the opening and shutting of a new pair of scissors.
The darkness was far advanced; three or four stars were visible, and the pink tint had faded from the sky. The pond gleamed like silver, but its banks were black and mysterious.
"We ought to start awful early in the mornin'," said Ed Mason; "p'r'aps we better go to bed now."
He began this remark in a voice that sounded fearfully loud, but said the closing words in a whisper.
"P'r'aps we had," I agreed,--also in a whisper.
There was no one within hearing: it seemed strange that we should have to whisper.
In another way, however, it appeared quite proper to whisper.
I was reflecting that, aside from a night spent in a tent with two or three other boys, in Peter Bailey's garden, I had never slept outdoors. It also occurred to me that we had no bedclothes nor pillows. We had blankets that night in the tent, and made pillows out of piles of hay. The hay tickled the back of your neck somewhat, but otherwise it was all right.
"We might sleep in Brown's barn," I suggested.
"Why, of course we couldn't. There ain't any barns on the prairies!"
"Besides," pursued Ed, with something like a shudder, "tramps sleep in these barns."
"Could we get some hay from the barn?" I wondered; "there won't be any tramps in there now, will there?"
"I guess not. We needn't go all the way in,--we can reach some by just openin' the door."
He was on the point of rising when another objection occurred to me.
"He hasn't any right to say anything 'bout it. In time of war they take what they want, don't they? They make a forced _levi_."
This subject of the forced "levi" had been discussed amongst us at some length in connection with Mr. Hawkins' cherries. Jimmy Toppan and Rob Currier had the impression that it had something to do with a clothing dealer on Main Street.