the ice-house, and that to-morrow morning the old farmer would arrive
with fresh bread and eggs. I was soon absorbed in my books.

As the night wore on the silence deepened. Even the chipmunks were
still; and the boards of the floors and walls ceased creaking. I read on
steadily till, from the gloomy shadows of the kitchen, came the hoarse
sound of the clock striking nine. How loud the strokes sounded! They
were like blows of a big hammer. I closed one book and opened another,
feeling that I was just warming up to my work.

This, however, did not last long. I presently found that I was reading
the same paragraphs over twice, simple paragraphs that did not require
such effort. Then I noticed that my mind began to wander to other
things, and the effort to recall my thoughts became harder with each
digression. Concentration was growing momentarily more difficult.
Presently I discovered that I had turned over two pages instead of one,
and had not noticed my mistake until I was well down the page. This was
becoming serious. What was the disturbing influence? It could not be
physical fatigue. On the contrary, my mind was unusually alert, and in a
more receptive condition than usual. I made a new and determined effort
to read, and for a short time succeeded in giving my whole attention to
my subject. But in a very few moments again I found myself leaning back
in my chair, staring vacantly into space.

Something was evidently at work in my sub-consciousness. There was
something I had neglected to do. Perhaps the kitchen door and windows
were not fastened. I accordingly went to see, and found that they were!
The fire perhaps needed attention. I went in to see, and found that it
was all right! I looked at the lamps, went upstairs into every bedroom
in turn, and then went round the house, and even into the ice-house.