ing and prancing. It was famous! The dull thud of the rockers
echoed through the garret, and somebody sitting in the room below raised
his head to listen to the strange sound.

This somebody was an old man with white hair and a gray, stern face, who
sat beside a table on which were paper and lighted candles. A letter
lay before him, but he was not reading it. When the sound of the rocking
began, he started and turned pale. A little boy once used to rock in
that way in the garret overhead, but it was long ago, and for many years
past the garret had been silent and deserted. "Harry's horse!" muttered
the old man with a look of fear as he heard the sound. He half rose from
his chair, then he sat down again. But soon the noise ceased. Dickie had
caught sight of another thing in the garret which interested him, and
had dismounted to examine it. The old man sank into his chair again with
a look of relief, muttering something about the wind.

The thing which Dickie had gone to examine was a little arm-chair
cushioned with red. It was just the size for him, and he seated himself
in it with a look of great satisfaction.

"I wiss this chair was mine," he said. "P'waps Mally'll let me take it
home if I ask her."

A noise below attracted his attention. He peeped over the balusters and
saw an elderly woman, with a candle in her hand, coming up from the
lower story. She went into a room at the foot of the attic stair,
leaving the door open. "Hester! Hester!" called a voice from below. The
woman came from the room and went down again. She did not take the
candle with her: Dick could see it shining through the open door.

Like a little moth attracted by a flame, Dick wandered down the stair in
the direction of the light. The candle was standing on the table in a
bedroom,--a pretty room, Dickie thought, though it did not seem as if
anybody could have lived in it lately. He didn't know why this idea came
into his mind, but it did. It was a girl's bedroom, for a small blue
dress hung on the wall, and on the bureau were brushes, combs, and
hair-pins. Beside the bureau was a wooden shelf full of books. A
bird-cage swung in the window, but there was no bird in it, and the seed
glass and water cup were empty. The narrow bed had a white coverlid and
a great white pillow. It looked all ready for somebody, but it was
years since the girl who once owned the room had slept there. The old
housekeeper, who still loved the girl, came every day to