flour-bag printed the words DANGER ROAD CLOSED. This he hung upon the
rope near the lantern. Then he sat down on the old carriage block where
they used to stand the milk cans and waited. He felt rather foolish
waiting there and he wondered what he should do if a big car with the
number 50792 and an eagle on it should really come along....

The night was pitch dark; somewhere in the lonely woods hard by the
screech owl was still calling, and the brisk autumn wind, freshening as
the night advanced into the wee hours, conjured up strange noises in the
loose hanging sticks of the old ramshackle fence along the roadside.
Dried leaves, driven by the fitful gusts of wind, sounded like someone,
or some _thing_, hurrying by.

Now, indeed, Peter's fine hopes melted away as he waited there in the
darkness. To be sure, this was a main road, as likely a route as any
thereabouts for autos, and in the daytime many passed there. But as he
waited now in the deep, enveloping night, and heard no sound save the
haunting voices caused by the wind and the low, monotonous singing of
the forest life, it seemed unthinkable that any thrilling sequel of his
singular experience in his little room could occur. Everything was the
same as usual, the crickets chirping, the owl calling, the little
graveyard down the road wrapped in darkness.... Glory was not going to
knock on the humble door of Peter Piper of Piper's Crossroads....

Peter glanced down the dark road toward the graveyard; he had always
hurried past that spot when coming home from the crossroads at night.
Once he had seen a ghostly figure on the stone wall, which, on more
careful inspection the next morning, proved to be the sexton's shovel
with his hat on top of it. The little church was around the bend of the
road, within the hallowed acre.