ibbing. I went to the farm myself on my
way up yesterday, and there is _no_ little room, and there _never_ has
been any; it is a china-closet, just as Mrs. Grant saw it last."

She was pretending to be busy unpacking her trunk, and did not look up
for a moment; but as Nan did not say anything, she glanced at her over
her shoulder. Nan was actually pale, and it was hard to say whether she
was most angry or frightened. There was something of both in her look.
And then Rita began to explain how her telegram had put her in the
spirit of going up there alone. She hadn't meant to cut Nan out. She
only thought--Then Nan broke in: "It isn't that; I am sure you can't
think it is that. But I went myself, and you did not go; you can't have
been there, for _it is a little room_."

Oh, what a night they had! They couldn't sleep. They talked and argued,
and then kept still for a while, only to break out again, it was so
absurd. They both maintained that they had been there, but both felt
sure the other one was either crazy or obstinate beyond reason. They
were wretched; it was perfectly ridiculous, two friends at odds over
such a thing; but there it was--"little room,"
"china-closet,"--"china-closet," "little room."

The next morning Nan was tacking up some tarlatan at a window to keep
the midges out. Rita offered to help her, as she had done for the past
ten years. Nan's "No, thanks," cut her to the heart.

"Nan," said she, "come right down from that stepladder and pack your
satchel. The stage leaves in just twenty minutes. We can catch the
afternoon express train, and we will go together to the farm. I am
either going there or going home. You better go with me."

Nan didn't say a word. She gathered up the hammer and tacks, and was
ready to start when the stage came round.

It meant for them thirty miles of staging and six hours of train,
besides crossing the lake; but what of that, compared with having a lie
lying round loose between them! Europe would have seemed easy to
accomplish, if it would settle the question.

At the little junction in Vermont they found a farmer with a wagon full
of meal-bags. They asked him if he could not take them up to the old
Keys farm and bring them back in time for the return train, due in two
hours.

They had planned to call it a sketching trip, so they said, "We have
been there before, we are artists, and we might find some views worth
taking, and we want also to make a short call upon the