He came in the early afternoon. Quite simply, she knew that he was there, outside—and sure enough, when she went to the door, there stood the little overalled lad, straw hat set askew on his head, face up-tilted to the windows—Gin's window.
Julia walked out on the porch and, slowly, he lowered his head, staring full at her with bright blue eyes. He let her get within eight feet of him, then turned and walked away.
"Wait!" Julia cried sternly. "Stand where you are!"
He looked back over one shoulder. Under the shadow of the wide-brimmed hat she could see his eyes—sly, taunting. She could see the wide, mocking grin. It seemed to her that she had never known anything more malevolent, more horrifying than that child's face—thin, freckled and full of an unchildish wisdom, a knowledge of something beyond her, a power she was utterly unable to cope with.
"Stop!" she sobbed. "Please! Let me speak—just once?"
The other stopped. Julia considered flinging herself at him, but before she could move the lad solemnly raised his hand and beckoned to her. Then, looking back and again beckoning, he led her deliberately across the field and down the hillside toward the orchard.
"Why," cried Julia breathlessly when at last he permitted her to overtake him—"why are you doing this? What do you want?"
The lad lowered his eyes.
"I ain't a-gonna be alone," he muttered. "Not no more!" He looked up, and again she felt the stab of those blue, child's eyes. "You—you want to take her away, but she ain't a-goin'! She'll be like me—and she'll stay here forever!"
"You want her to be dead!" Julia screamed.
"She is dead," the lad answered. "Now, already. Go see."
The house was empty. Gin, in her feverish delirium, must have left while the other lured Julia away. Distraught, weeping, she ran from room to room—mocked everywhere by the ringing echoes of her own voice.
The pond—was that what he had meant? Julia ran, stumbling down the rough trail swamped out through the patch of woods. She found Gin's two small shoes set side by side on the edge of the pond.
In response to her hysterical telephone call Cliff came home. Others, too, came to console her or join in the search. Close-mouthed men—strangers—tramped over the fields. The woods were combed. At night, as the search spread to the surrounding hills, there was the mournful baying of hounds.
"Get some sleep!" Cliff begged. "Maybe—there's still a chance—"
"No!" she sobbed. "Tell them not to look any more! She's in the pond—I know it!"
"They'll drag tomorrow," Cliff whispered haggardly. "We'll see."
Sometime in the night it began raining. Julia slept but sleep was more terrible than waking reality. She plunged awake out of choking nightmare, to the drab grayness of earliest morning, and the sound of rain in the eaves gutters.
Downstairs Cliff slept huddled in a chair. He had not even taken off his shoes. The telephone had remained mute throughout the night. Julia tiptoed past him, down the hall and out the door.
It had rained heavily. A chill light glistened on every leaf and blade. Julia raised her face to the cold drops, feeling them soothe the terrible throb in her head, the ache in her eyes. She shut her eyes and walked blindly, feeling she could never get enough of the cold, pelting rain.
"Mommy!"
Her eyes flew open. Then she cried out and ran, sobbing brokenly, toward the
