Mick did not return till late. He had been drawing wood for
Horton that day, which was the reason he happened in Quonab's
neighbourhood; but his road lay by the tavern, and when he
arrived home he was too helpless to do more than mutter.

The next day there was an air of suspended thunder. Rolf
overheard his uncle cursing "that ungrateful young scut - not
worth his salt." But nothing further was said or done. His aunt
did not strike at him once for two days. The third night Micky
disappeared. On the next he returned with another man; they had
a crate of fowls, and Rolf was told to keep away from "that there
little barn."

So he did all morning, but he peeped in from the hayloft when a
chance came, and saw a beautiful horse. Next day the "little
barn" was open and empty as before.

That night this worthy couple had a jollification with some
callers, who were strangers to Rolf. As he lay awake, listening
to the carouse, he overheard many disjointed allusions that he
did not understand, and some that he could guess at: "Night work
pays better than day work any time," etc. Then he heard his own
name and a voice, "Let's go up and settle it with him now."
Whatever their plan, it was clear that the drunken crowd,
inspired by the old ruffian, were intent on doing him bodily
harm. He heard them stumbling and reeling up the steep stairs.
He heard, "Here, gimme that whip," and knew he was in peril,
maybe of his life, for they were whiskey-mad. He rose quickly,
locked the door, rolled up an old rag carpet, and put it in his