midnight
Next to the soughing of a November wind it is , perhaps , the most dismally lonesome sound in nature . For two hours Tim Doyle smoked and thought and listened . Then he knocked the ashes out of his pipe and decided that he had been long enough in the country . He would walk to the station , two miles away , and take the midnight train to the city . As he went down the farm road skirting the pasture he saw in the moonlight the sheds where the horses went at night for shelter . Moved by some sudden whim , he stopped and whistled . A moment later a big horse appeared from under the shed and came toward him , neighing gratefully .