hewn cedar shingles. Later in the day, perhaps, it would be breathlessly warm beneath that sloping roof; but not yet!
Sally stepped out upon the broad, hay-strewn floor. More than half of the storage space was piled with hay—a lovely brown mountain of it. She tiptoed over to Zenas and shook him.
"Boo!" she exclaimed playfully.
But poor Zenas was too utterly weary to answer even boo! He only stirred and sighed and, having shifted his position, sank back again into slumber so deep that Sally stood looking down at him, disliking to waken him.
"Surely it cannot hurt an we linger for a brief nap—'tis so rarely lovely up here!" Her wistful glance found a hollow in the hay, as though created for a couch, and she sauntered toward it. Somehow, then, she found herself sinking down into the hay, found herself snuggling sleepily. "It—cannot—matter, an—we only—rest—a short while!" she told herself, weakly yielding, knowing well that she and Zenas should have been far on their way to the Mountain by now. Both boy and girl paid for their disobedience, however, as we shall see!
It seemed to Sally, for whom, as for Zenas, the night's rest had not been sufficiently sound to restore vigor exhausted by the previous day's exertions, that she had barely closed her eyes when
