kiddies together, a-playin' at railroads and such in the gravel yesterday—”      

       “Did he ask Robbie about the red-haired woman yesterday, because that may have brought on the nightmare last night?”      

       “I don't know, miss. I was n't in earshot of them. Mr. Dabney, he always coaxes Robbie a bit away from the bench where I set and sew out here.”      

       “I think I'll ask Mr. Dabney,” I said. I began to move away; then, with an afterthought I turned back to Mary. She was studying me with a dubious air.     

       “I think we had better try the plan of watching closely over Robbie before we say anything to alarm Mrs. Brane,” I said. “It would distress her very much to move Robbie out of his nursery, and she has been very tired and languid lately. She has been doing too much, I think. This new woman, Sara Lorrence, is a terror for house-cleaning, and she's urged Mrs. Brane to let her give the old part of the house a thorough cleaning. Mrs. Brane simply won't keep away. She works almost as hard as Sara, and goes into every crack and cranny and digs out old rubbish—nothing's more exhausting.”      

       “Yes, ma'am,” Mary agreed, “she's sure a wonder at cleaning, that Sara. She's straightened out our kitchen closet somethin' wonderful, miss.”      

       “She has?” I wondered if Sara, too, had discovered that queer opening in the back of the closet. I had almost forgotten it, but now I decided, absurd as such action probably was, to investigate the black hole into which I had fallen when I tried to move the lawn roller.     

       I chose a time when Sara Lorrence was out of the kitchen, cutting lettuces in the kitchen-garden. For several minutes I watched her broad, well-corseted body at its task, then, singing softly to myself,—for some reason I had a feeling that I was in danger,—I walked across the clean board floor and stepped into the closet to which my attention had first been drawn by Mary. It was indeed a renovated spot, sweet and garnished like the abode of devils in the parable; pots scoured and arranged on shelves, rubbish cleared out, the lawn-mower removed, the roller taken to some more appropriate place. But it was, in its further recesses, as dark as ever. I moved in, bending down my head and feeling before me with my hand. My fingers came presently against a wall. I felt     

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