I turned the flashlight on only intermittently, only at the moments when the darkness was pressing too forcibly upon me. I felt the presence of ogres and banshees (whatever they are) and even a few werewolves. I didn't want to make myself conspicuous by shining the flashlight any more than necessary; if all these horrible things could hide from me in the dark, then I could just as well hide from them, too, instead of lighting myself up so they'd know exactly where to pounce. When at last I reached Williams street, which marked the end of our property, I turned the flashlight on bravely and began to search for the water meter. Coyotes were howling close in the hills to the north, which didn't help matters any. All of the land around me was settled by fat, stickery bushes which regarded me stolidly, defying me to dispute their squatters' rights or to try to get any information from them. They knew where the meter was, all right, but they had no intention of letting me in on the secret. I stood on our private road, in a rocky tire-rut, and began to flash the beam of the flashlight systematically across the field in such a way that the light had finally covered every foot of the area in which I thought the meter must be. There was no sign of the meter, though. I wasn't really surprised, because the wind-battered, huddled-together bushes, which by now wore faintly mocking expressions, were high enough to obscure the meter from any eye except that of the person who knew exactly where to look. I waded a few feet into the despicable little bushes and repeated the process of flashing the light around systematically. No soap. No water meter. After a lull the cold wind was coming up again, and the bushes began to move and whisper among themselves. I could almost make out what they were saying. "Can you imagine," one seemed to hiss indignantly, "Thinks she can find the meter we've got hidden!" "Yeah, look at the fool," another replied with derision. "Trying to find it with just a little flashlight. Think we ought to trip her up and stick a few thorns into her?" Apparently they decided against it, and perhaps they even took pity on me, because eventually I found the meter, about ten feet from Williams street and twenty feet from our private road. When I found it, of course, I didn't know what to do with it. It was a small, complicated structure of curving pipes and gadgets and smooth, leering faces of glass. One round handle was particularly conspicuous, and I felt certain that it was with this handle that I must commune. I turned the handle cautiously. It seemed agreeable, so I turned it still further. And then I came upon another hurdle I must jump: no matter with how much firmness and artistry I turned the handle, I wouldn't know what effect it was having, if any, until I trotted back the whole cold, black, dismal distance to the house and tried the faucets. I girded up my loins, grasped the flashlight grimly, and started back.