but she could not deny it to herself, that of all the girls
she had helped to train, none had come so close to her heart as this girl
with her wonderful insight, her honesty, her plain speaking, and her heart
of gold. A hundred times she had defied the rules of the sanitarium, had
swept the superintendent's dignity to the four winds. And she would
continue to do so, and they would continue to overlook it. Such petty
offenses are forgiven the Leeries the world over. And now, watching the
gray, alive figure climbing into the omnibus, Miss Maxwell had no mind to
resent her breach of discipline. She knew the girl had asked nothing for
herself; she had gone to do something for somebody who needed it, and she
would report for duty again when that was accomplished.

And two days later, accordingly, she came, a luminous, ecstatic figure
that flew into the office with arms outstretched to swing the
superintendent almost off her feet in joyful triumph. "It _was_ just what
I thought! Found the girl--only she is an old woman now--got the whole
miserable story from her, and--and--I think--I think--Good heart alive! I
think I can pull him out of the beastly old hole!"

"Meaning--? Remember, my dear, I haven't the grain of an idea why you
went, or where you went, or what the miserable story is about. Please
shine your lantern this way and light up my intelligence." Miss Maxwell
was beaming.

Sheila O'Leary laughed. "I began by jumping at conclusions--same as I
always do--jumped at 'phobia in Number Three. Almost came and asked to be
put on the case after you told me. But he isn't Number Three any
more--he's a little boy named Peter--a little boy, almost a baby,
frightened night after night for years and years into lying still in the
dark under the eaves in a little attic room, deliberately frightened by a
hired girl who wanted to be free to go off gadding with her young man. I
got the place and her name from Peter--coaxed it out of him--and I made
her tell me the story. The father paid her extra wages to stay at night so
the little boy wouldn't be lonely and miss his mother too much, and she
didn't want him to find out she had gone. So she'd put Peter to bed and
tell him that if he stirred or cried out the walls would close in on
him--or the floor would swallow him up--or the ghosts would come out of
the corners and eat him up or carry him off. Can't you see him there, a
little quivering heap of a boy, awake in the dark, afraid to mo