, when she
thought that she would not be sent away, ran up from behind and pulled
her by the sleeve.

"Let me come, Chris--I shall not talk."

The two girls walked on together. When they had gone some distance
Christian said:

"I'm going to get his pictures, and take charge of them!"

"Oh!" said Greta timidly.

"If you are afraid," said Christian, "you had better go back home."

"I am not afraid, Chris," said Greta meekly.

Neither girl spoke again till they had taken the path along the wall.
Over the tops of the vines the heat was dancing.

"The sun-fairies are on the vines!" murmured Greta to herself.

At the old house they stopped, and Christian, breathing quickly, pushed
the door; it was immovable.

"Look!" said Greta, "they have screwed it!" She pointed out three screws
with a rosy-tipped forefinger.

Christian stamped her foot.

"We mustn't stand here," she said; "let's sit on that bench and think."

"Yes," murmured Greta, "let us think." Dangling an end of hair, she
regarded Christian with her wide blue eyes.

"I can't make any plan," Christian cried at last, "while you stare at me
like that."

"I was thinking," said Greta humbly, "if they have screwed it up, perhaps
we shall screw it down again; there is the big screw-driver of Fritz."

"It would take a long time; people are always passing."

"People do not pass in the evening," murmured Greta, "because the gate at
our end is always shut."

Christian rose.

"We will come this evening, just before the gate is shut."

"But, Chris, how shall we get back again?"

"I don't know; I mean to have the pictures."

"It is not a high gate," murmured Greta.

After dinner the girls went to their room, Greta bearing with her the big
screw-driver of Fritz. At dusk they slipped downstairs and out.

They arrived at the old house, and stood, listening, in the shadow of the
doorway. The only sounds were those of distant barking dogs, and of the
bugles at the barracks.

"Quick!" whispered Christian; and Greta, with all the strength of her
small hands, began to turn the screws. It was some time before they
yielded; the third was very obstinate, till Christian took the
screw-driver and passionately gave the screw a starting twist.

"It is like a pig--that one," said Greta, rubbing her wrists mournfully.

The opened door revealed the gloom of the dank rooms and twisting
staircase, then fell to behind them with a clatter.

Greta gave a little sc