struck?”

But his father was bent over the book. All he would say was:

“No one can predict the outcome of such a thing.”

Ben waited for a moment, thinking he would speak further; but as he did not, the[16] lad shook the reins and Molly loped gaily up the path and off toward the barn.

[16]

In the shadow of the coach house a broad-shouldered youth of seventeen was engaged in cleaning a long, shining rifle. He looked up as Ben dismounted and turned the mare over to a hired man.

“Good morning for a ride,” commented he, as he rubbed industriously at the brass butt of the weapon. “Wanted to go over my traps, or I’d have joined you.”

“You missed something,” replied Ben, as he sat upon a sawbuck near the other. “The air is fine upon the road.”

“I know,” smiled the other, “full of sunshine and some other things which you can’t see, but which make you feel like a giant. It’s that way among the hills, up in the Wyoming valley.”

Ben kicked at some chips with the toe of his riding-boot and looked thoughtful.

“You are right,” he said, after a short pause; “there are things in the air this morning—things that maybe you don’t mean. And the nearer I rode to the city, the stronger I felt them.”

[17]The broad-shouldered youth laughed and his gray eyes twinkled.

[17]

“Maybe,” said he, “they were bits of Mr. Franklin’s electricity.”

“It might seem odd to you, Nat,” proceeded Ben, without noticing the other’s light words, “but I fancied that the roadside looked different. Everything seemed closer together and secretive, somehow. When the trees rustled in the wind and nodded toward each other, it seemed as though they were whispering mysteriously.”

Again Nat Brewster laughed.

“Ben,” said he, “I think you’ve passed the glen where Mother Babette lives, and that she’s put a spell upon you.”

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