And in
case of failure no one must ever know about this. ...
So she screwed up her courage and returned to the side porch to get
a lantern. She shook it and found it empty. There was nothing to do now
but brave the darkness or go down into the cellar and fill the lantern
from the big kerosene can. She paused in the darkness before those
sepulchral stone steps, then in a sudden impulse of determination
she tightened her little hand upon the lantern till her nails dug
into her palms and went down, down.
She groped her way to the kerosene can and finally came upon it and
felt its surface. Yes, it was the kerosene can. Her trembling little
hand fumbled for the tiny faucet. How queer it felt in the dark when
she could not see it! It seemed to have a little knob or something
on it. ...
Her hand was shaking but she held the little tank of the lantern under
the faucet and was about to turn the handle when something--something
soft and wet and silent--touched her other hand. She drew a quick
breath, her heart was in her mouth, her hands were icy cold. Still
she had presence of mind enough not to scream.
But as she rose in panic terror from her stooping posture, the
lantern pulled upward against the faucet, toppling the big can off
its skids.
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