"I reckon we mought put dem out now, sah! Dey ain' no need er dem lamps to see by." "As you like, Pete. Get down and put them out. I'll hold the reins." "I ain't got no need er gittin' out, sah! I kin raich 'em from here." He leaned over the splashboard at some inconvenience and extinguished the lamps, it seemed to me with unnecessary alacrity. I could not put his anxiety down altogether to the price of kerosene. "What's your worry about those lamps, Pete?" I asked. He turned guileless yet uneasy eyes upon me. "Dey jest ain' no _sainse_ burnin' 'em! Dey worry a pusson drivin' dem lamps do." I let it go as one of his unplumbed darkie mysteries, and we drove on. We were just entering upon the densest stretch of wood between the house and the village when a curious sound caught my ears. It was like the scrambling rush of some big bird through the trees to the left of us; a night-hawk, probably, though the confused wing-flaps were more like a turkey-buzzard. Coming unexpectedly on the silence it startled me, but before I could turn to Pete he had dropped the reins and flung himself upon me, a frenzied babbling lump. He clung and muttered, while I strove to hold him off, and the mare, taking fright at the moment, sent the light buggy rocking from side to side on the road. I gave the man a push that nearly threw him out. Once free of his clutch it was only a moment's work to secure the reins, but we shaved a bad accident by the skin of our teeth. Luckily we were not far from the house. My grip startled Pete into sanity--it was at least flesh and blood that had him there--and by the time I had pulled the mare to a standstill before the gate he was able to get out, shaking still miserably from head to foot, and seize the bridle. Between us we got the mare unharnessed and into the stable. She was in a lather over head and shoulders, and I stood over the cringing Pete while he rubbed her down. I think he never ceased praying the whole time. Whatever the noise was that had frightened him--and I put it down to no worse than an owl at the most--it had frightened him thoroughly. There was no use attempting reason or rebuke with the abject tooth-chattering being that followed me to the house, and I sent him to bed with a grim reminder that I would talk to him on the morrow. He did not go up immediately, however. For a long while I heard his voice in confabulation with Mrs. Searle in the kitchen, where I did not doubt he had made haste to secure every door and window against the outside air.