"Not a thing," said Pete. "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. He chuckled frequently.
"Feels fat enough to pay," he whispered. "Bill, I beat you just about seven minutes."
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
