She wouldn't think of the woodshed.
He sat there a long while, steadily regarding the closed screen door that led to the kitchen, ready to mingle deceptively with the coal should any one appear.
At last he heard a bustle within the house.

There were hurried steppings to and fro by Winona and her mother, the heavy tread of the judge, a murmur of high voices.

The Whipples must have come, and every one would be at the front of the house.

He crept from his corner, climbed to the floor from where it had been opened for wood and coal, and went softly to the kitchen door.

He listened a moment through the screen, then entered and went noiselessly up the back stairs.