However, day by day passed and nothing was said.  The ghost vanished as mysteriously as it had come.  Only Mrs. Dicey, taking her bonnet and apron and shawl from the chest, was amazed at the extraordinary manner in which they were folded and at their limp condition, and when she found a bunch of cockle-burs in the worsted fringes of the shawl she declared that witches must have had it, for she had not worn it since early in April when there were no cockle-burs.  She forthwith nailed a horseshoe on the door to keep the witches out, and she never liked the shawl so well after she had projected a mental picture of a lady wearing it, riding on a broomstick, and sporting also a long peaked nose.

Birt hardly noticed the crusty and ungracious conduct of Andy Byers toward him.  He worked on doggedly, scheming all the time to get off from the tanyard, and wondering again and again why Nate had gone, and where, and when he would return.

One day—­a gray day it was and threatening rain—­as he came suddenly out of the shed, he saw a boy at the bars.  It was Nate Griggs!  No; only for a moment he thought this was Nate.  But this fellow’s eyes were not so close together; his hair was less sandy; there were no facial indications of extreme slyness.  It was only Nathan’s humble likeness, his younger brother, Timothy.

He had Nate’s coat thrown over his arm, and he shouldered his brother’s rifle.

Tim came slouching slowly into the tanyard, a good-natured grin on his face.  He paused only to knock Rufe’s hat over his eyes, as the small boy stood in front of the low-spirited mule, both hands busy with the animal’s mouth, striving to open his jaws to judge by his teeth how old he might be.

“The critter’ll bite ye, Rufe!” Birt exclaimed, for as Rufe stooped to pick up his hat the mule showed some curiosity in his turn, and was snuffling at Rufe’s hay-colored hair.

Rufe readjusted his head-gear, and ceasing his impolite researches into the mule’s age, came up to the other two boys.  Tim had paused by the shed, and leaning upon the rifle, began to talk.

“I war a-passin’ by, an’ I thought I’d drap in on ye.”

“Hev you-uns hearn from Nate since he hev been gone away?” demanded Birt anxiously.

“He hev come home,” responded Tim.

“When did he git home?” Birt asked with increasing suspicion.

“Las’ week,” said Tim carelessly.

Another problem!  Why had Nate not communicated with his partner about their proposed work?  It seemed a special avoidance.

“I onderstood ez how he aimed ter bide away longer,” Birt remarked.