Together they saw two shadows
locked in an incredible embrace. Like a scythe raised aloft, Mr.
Trask's knife swept downward in a wide arc and with a quick stroke cut
off Mr. Maudsley's head. Mr. Maudsley's hat flew up, Mr. Maudsley's
head rolled off, and a thin cry of triumph welled up and faded. And then there was nothing, except that Mr. Trask was back on one side
of the fence, and Mr. Maudsley was on the other, minus his head, of
course. "Gee!" said Stella. "Golly!" said Jimmy. He ran over to pick up Mr. Maudsley's hat; Jimmy
tried to put Mr. Maudsley's head back but somehow it wouldn't stick. "We'll fix it in the morning," said Jimmy. At the edge of the field Jimmy paused and caught his sister's arm
anxiously. "You won't tell, Stella?" "No of course not." "Cross your heart...?" "Cross my heart and hope to die." *       *       *       *       *

It was night of the next day and the children sat playing parchesi. Mrs. Tapping was knitting. Mr. Tapping, settled back in the platform
rocker, was reading the newspaper aloud, as was his custom. Outside,
Mr. Trask was in one field, and Mr. Maudsley was in the other; his
head was back in place, but only tied on--it was not the same; it
looked very dead, even though Jimmy and Stella had done their best. "Any news?" asked Mrs. Tapping. "Same old stuff. New taxes, one of them foreign countries talkin' big
and threatenin' war," said Mr. Tapping. "One thing here, though--they
found a fellow with his head cut off right in the middle of a city
street." "My land! Not here in Akerstown?"