The feeling colored his dreams.

Kenny found himself hazily adrift in an inquisitorial corncrib made of bars of moon-plated silver.

They pressed in upon him ever tighter and tighter until with a mighty sweep of his arms he burst them all asunder.
He awoke at an undesirable hour, convinced that another farmer was getting up.

The world was a mournful gray.

At the end of the corncrib a head was peering in.