In the grove where the tiny creek gurgled under the little stone
bridge, someone was snoring rhythmically in ~his blankets, for
the boys had taken to sleeping in the open air before the
earliest rose had opened buds in the sunny shelter of the porch.
Three feet away, a sleeper stirred restlessly, lifted his head
from the pillow, and slapped half-heartedly at an early mosquito
that was humming in his ear. He reached out, and jogged the
shoulder of him who snored.
"Say, Gene, if you've got to sleep at the top of your voice, you
better drag your bed down into the orchard," he growled. "Let up
a little, can't yuh?"
"Ah, shut up and let a fellow sleep!" mumbled Gene, snuggling the
covers up to his ears.
"Just what I want YOU to do. You snore like a sawmill. Darn it,
you've got to get out of the grove if yuh can't--"
"Ah-h-EE-EE!" wailed a voice somewhere among the trees, the sound
rising weirdly to a subdued crescendo, clinging there until one's
flesh went creepy, and then sliding mournfully down to silence.
Pages:
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96