But it did not desist
for an instant, and at last, vexed beyond measure, I got out of
bed, groped my way to the spot whence I thought the sound proceeded
(it seemed to come from the floor) and stamped heavily on the
boards.
My action was heard by the men outside the door, and one of them
cried out angrily to know what I was about.
"'Tis a wretched mouse will not let me sleep," I replied.
"And what can you expect, you fool, when your room's over an empty
stable?" he said. "Curse me! what a fresh-water fair-weather fowl
you be!"
The scratching having ceased, I went back to bed. But in a few
moments it recommenced, at what seemed to be a spot nearer to me,
and, marveling somewhat at the persistence of the beast (for a
mouse is easily scared), I covered my head, and so endeavored to
shut out the annoyance.
I think I must have dozed again, for suddenly I found myself
sitting bolt upright, straining my ears as a man does when he is
suddenly wakened from sleep and is not sure whether 'twas by an
actual sound or by a sound heard in dream. And in a moment my doubt
was resolved; assuredly I heard a sound, and 'twas like a human
voice, but muffled. I listened intently; it appeared to come from
beneath me. While I was wondering who could have chosen the stable
as a place for conversation in the dead of night I could have sworn
(though half-believing it must be an hallucination) that I beard my
own name. In a trice I was out of bed, and groping my way under it,
my hand struck against something projecting from the floor, and at
the same moment I heard distinctly, and as it were in my very ear,
a low whisper, "Massa Bold, Massa Bold!"
"Who is there?" I whispered in return, and, clutching the thing my
hand had touched, I felt it move.
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