186 HAPPY HOLLOW FARM 



story, I might as well tell you honestly that it 

 was right here at Happy Hollow I first 

 learned to know fear real Simon-pure, primi- 

 tive animal fear. You've felt it, most likely, at 

 one time or another. I felt it more than once 

 when I began to wander around over the farm 

 and through the woods on dark nights. Silly? 

 Why, of course it was silly; but that doesn't 

 change the fact. In my newspaper days I'd 

 had all sorts of face-to-face encounters with 

 fire and flood and disaster, earthquake and 

 wreck and sudden death, and the worst of it 

 all had never sent a quiver of personal fear 

 through me. I don't pretend to understand 

 the psychology of it. Maybe it was because 

 there was always "something doing" to keep 

 the mind busy action, and excitement, and 

 bright lights, and such-like. But it was 

 mighty different when it came to taking a foot- 

 trail across the farm and over the mountain on 

 a still, dark night, alone. There's no wild 

 creature in our country bigger than a 'coon or 

 a red fox; but there were such queer, large 

 sounds in the thickets and the deep tangles 

 breathings, and stirrings, and murmurings, all 

 the more eerie because they had no name. If 

 you've never been against it yourself, just 



