"I don't like anything better than to listen to the whistling of the wind when I am snug in bed." For the time being Sam and Tom were occupying a room in the L of the farmhouse, and Dick had a small bedchamber adjoining.

The boys were soon undressed, and, having said their prayers, hopped into bed, and were soon sound asleep.
It was not until half an hour later that the older folks retired.
Anderson Rover was the last to leave the sitting room, where he had been busy writing some letters at the desk that stood there.
As he was about to retire he fancied he heard a noise outside of one of the windows.

He drew up the curtain and looked through the glass, but could see nothing.
"It must have been the wind," he murmured.

"But, somehow, it didn't sound like it." As he stepped into the dark hallway an uneasy feeling took possession of him--a feeling hard to define, and one for which he could not account.
"I think I had better go around and see that all the doors and windows are properly locked," he told himself.

"Brother Randolph may have overlooked one of them." He walked the length of the hallway, and stepped into the kitchen and over to a side window.
As he had his hand on the window-latch he heard a quick step directly behind him.
He started to turn, but before he could do so he received a blow on the head from a club that staggered him.