Then sounded footsteps, the rustle of hay being swept aside. Sally, burrowing frantically, discovered a prayer upon her lips! Could see, without looking at them, the gleaming bayonets jabbing in and out of the hay! She gasped, because for an instant she felt the sleeve of her gown caught and held, felt her skirt caught and held, and feeling gingerly she found two slits in the cloth! And then she knew no more. Sheer, exquisite terror had mercifully robbed her of her senses!
When she recovered her consciousness, a faraway voice was calling her by name. Sally! Sally! She gasped, began to push wildly at the imprisoning hay, reached the edge of the haymow, staggered out to air and freedom. Zenas was upon his knees, facing her, pulling in a queer, weak, uncertain manner at the hay, muttering her name. Sally! Sally! The girl, staring down at him, thought for an awful moment that he had gone daft from horror.
"Here—here I be, Zenas!" she stammered.
The boy started, glanced up at her wild-eyed, and the next instant had fallen forward into the hay, sobbing. This frightened Sally almost as much as his apparent daftness; but she stood gently by, and presently Zenas's hysterical sobbing ceased and, shamefaced, he sat erect and searched for his kerchief.
"Are—ye—not—not dead, then, Sally!" he
