In the back of the house he saw the kitchen door, illumined indeed, but the room, as far as he could see, empty.
Then very suddenly a wave of silence began somewhere in a side of the house and swept across it, dying to a murmur at the edges.

Barry waited for no more maneuvers, but walked boldly up the back stairs and entered the house, hat in hand.
The moment he passed the door he was alert, balanced.

He could have swung to either side, or whirled and shot behind him with the precision of a leisurely marksman, and as he walked he smiled, happily with his head held high.

He seemed so young, then, that one would have said he had just come in gaily from some game with the other youths of Alder.
Out of the kitchen he passed into the hall, and there he understood the meaning of the silence, for both the doors to the front room were open, and through the doors he heard a single voice, deep and solemn, and through the doors he saw the crowd standing motionless.

Their heads did not stir,--heads on which the hair was plastered smoothly down--and when some one raised a hand to touch an itching ear, or nose, he moved his arm with such caution that it seemed he feared to set a magazine of powder on fire.