box of mentholatum in my pocket. It was there, and some bandages too. The sound came again. Somewhere in the near woods a voice was calling. I followed it after. Once I did have thinks it came from a root. And then it was like it did come from a big tree. It was a pain-voice like someone calling someone to come. Then it was like a lost voice trying to find its way among the ferns. It was not a word-voice. It was just a voice without words.
I did have wonders what voice it was. I followed after its queer callings. Brave Horatius followed after me. He would stop and look queer puzzle-looks at nowhere. We did go on. The voice sound came again. Then it was like a voice lost from the person it did belong to. It was a clear low cry, like a ripple of gray ribbon. We were more near to it. We followed it around a big tree. There it was come from the man on the stump, between that tree and the big tree that was beyond it. The man, he did throw back his head and the voice came out his throat and went to nowhere. It came again like little bits of queer green fire flame, and then it was low and again like a ripple of gray ribbon. As it was so he did turn his face about. It was the face of the husband of Sadie McKibben; but the look—the look in his eyes was a queer wild look that looked looks at nowhere.
