Midnight
She crept to the floor , yawning , tiptoed to the door , and unbarred it . Without pausing to cover her feet , she stepped outside , the fresh scent of May blossoms sweeping sweet to her nostrils . The warm night-wind , full of elusive odors , brushed her face like thready cobwebs , that broke at her touch , only to caress her anew . Midnight held no fear for Tessibel , for she loved every living creature , those traveling by day being no dearer than those flying by night . She felt no deeper thrills for the bright-winged birds singing in the sun than for yonder owl who screeched at her , now , from the weeping willow tree . After picking her way to the front of the shanty , she made a tour of the house and encircled the mud cellar , calling softly the while . No one appeared ; no voice , either of friend or stranger , answered the persuasive importunity of Tessibel .